Purpose In All Things: Downstream
by whovianbard
Summary: It's Jack and Ianto's first wedding anniversary and Ianto has a surprise for Jack - a chance to discover the other love of Ianto's life. Unashamed Janto fluff. Part of the Purpose in All Things AU. Rated M for safety. Final chapter now posted.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Who-verse. That honour belongs to RTD (the TW arm at least – Miracle Day, what were you thinking?), Steven Moffat (I am not worthy) and the mighty and glorious BBC. I merely play here occasionally and try to set right the terrible wrongs inflicted on Jack and Ianto...**

**Author's Note: This is a little something written for Ravenja70. It's a year late (I'm really sorry) but hopefully suitably fluffy and Janto filled to make up for the wait. Thank you, as always, to my wonderful beta Orion.**

**Thank you to everyone for reading and, as always, feedback is very welcome. **

**BTW, the M rating is for safety and you can judge for yourself if it's really required in Chapter 2...**

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><p>The blow caught him from behind, a cannonball of pure energy slamming between the shoulder blades, sending him sprawling into an oily slick of water pooled on the floor. The Webley skittered from his fingers, vanishing beneath a crate with the harsh grating sound of metal on concrete. If Jack had any air in his lungs he would have sworn, long and loud; as it was he merely coughed weakly as his weapon disappeared from sight. Somewhere to his left he heard the sickening crack of breaking bone and a muffled grunt of pain sending his heart lurching into his mouth, the owner of the voice unmistakable.<p>

Ignoring the vicious darts of pain shooting down his spine, and somewhat surprised that his backbone didn't appear to be shattered into a thousand puzzle pieces he rolled over, unwilling to rise until he had some idea of the enemy he was facing. The abandoned factory was in semi-darkness, lit only by weak daylight filtering through dirty overhead skylights stained green with algae. The towering skeletons of defunct machinery and overhead metal girders cast a curious criss-cross maze of shadows in which any number of aggressors could hide. Jack scanned the shadows carefully, his piercing blue eyes searching out even the merest hint of movement.

Suddenly from somewhere close by in the darkness there was the sound of a scuffle, feet and bodies struggling against one another, the hollow crack of a wooden crate being hit, another grunt of pain and then silence. Jack was on his feet in an instant, his body crouched low. Keeping to the shadows, he crept between the towering machines, his rubber-soled boots silent on the oil stained floor, moving in the direction the sounds had come from. The factory was still now, only the faint rumble of far away traffic and a slow drip of water from the leaking roof breaking the silence. As he approached the end of the row of machines he could make out two figures a few feet away down the intersecting aisle. One sprawled face down, features hidden by the shadows, unmoving. The second man, his back to Jack and wreathed in shadow, was crouched low over the first. Cradled in his arms was a blaster which, even in this dim light, Jack recognised as being a couple of centuries and at least half a dozen solar systems out of place.

Jack silently cursed the loss of his Webley, his eyes scanning the area once more, this time in search of something he could use as a makeshift weapon. Normally factories such as these were full of useful things, he thought in growing frustration, as his search brought up nothing in the least bit suitable. A bit of loose pipe, a plank of wood, Christ, even a length of mouldy old rope would do. All he could see were expanses of solid metal housing the machinery which would only come apart with a lot of effort and a shitload of noise. He looked again at the two men. Ianto was clearly unconscious or... Jack rapidly pushed the thought away. If Ianto was dead then the other man wouldn't need to keep guard. The man clearly hadn't thought that he, Jack, was worth troubling about, probably figuring that a blast like the one the alien gun had delivered would kill a human. Hell, it might have done; there were a few seconds back there that were still a bit fuzzy, Jack conceded. If Ianto was injured he needed to get him out of there fast. It was time for the direct approach, 51st century pheromones and charm.

Jack stood up, smoothing down the lines of his now somewhat damp and stained greatcoat, and shoved his hands deep into the pockets. Then with an air of studied nonchalance he stepped out of the shadows into the subdued light of the aisle, and began to approach the two men. There was an almost imperceptible crunch of Jack's boots on a smattering of sand, obviously thrown across the floor to mop up some ancient oil spill, and the crouching man spun round, levelling the blaster ready to fire. Jack stopped mid-step and moistened his lips...

"You took your bloody time, Jack. Can you call Martha? I think I've broken this git's arm. And get her here quickly, I don't really want to waste our anniversary weekend guarding this arsehole."

Captain Jack Harkness-Jones grinned at his husband and did as he was told.

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><p><em>An hour later<em>

"No, Jack. I'm not telling you where we're going. You asked for a surprise and that's what you're going to get." Ianto smirked at the sight of the momentary sulky expression which crossed his husband's face. He flicked the indicator switch, pulling out smoothly into the outside lane of the motorway, joining the faster moving cars heading out of Cardiff. "All I will tell you is it's not in Wales and according to every record I've been able to dig up on you, you've never been there before, which, you have to concede, is quite an achievement."

In the passenger seat Jack harrumphed. Ianto darted a look across to him.

"Please don't tell me you're still mad about the factory," he said incredulously. "It wasn't like I was going after some big bad alien. It was a spotty teen looking for scrap who thought he'd found a rare type of antique NERF gun. It's hardly surprising with all that flashy orange and red going on – I though weapons of the future were supposed to be all matt black and silver. Anyway he was so damn terrified after he took a shot at you he bolted. I was just trying to retrieve the gun and barrelled into him to bring him down. He'd never have fired it at me." He glanced again at Jack's still somewhat stony face and took one hand off the steering wheel to lay it on his knee.

After a second Jack covered Ianto's hand with his own. "When I heard you cry out... I thought you'd been hurt." He sighed. "I hate that feeling."

Ianto manoeuvred his hand on top to circle the back of Jack's hand with his thumb, an almost impersonal caress he knew Jack adored. "Me too, cariad," he said softly. "Me, too."

An hour and a half passed in companionable silence, Ianto's hand returning to Jack's waiting one whenever he wasn't using it to change gear or indicate. The M4 gave way to the M5 and then the M42, the traffic light thanks to the relatively late hour.

"Well, we're heading north," Jack commented as a large blue sign pronounced the junction for M1 North.

"A very astute deduction, Mr Holmes," Ianto said drily. "That leaves you half of England and all of Scotland to choose from."

"Ah, but you said we were going somewhere I'd never been before, so that rules out quite a large part of Scotland. A hell of a lot has gone down in the Highlands over the years. You'd be surprised. It's a shame though, Scotland would be great. I look spectacular in a kilt."

Ianto let his eyes slide to Jack's canvas covered legs, picturing the muscular limbs beneath, covered with a dusting of dark brown hair, and swallowed.

"Of that I have absolutely no doubt," he commented, mentally making himself a note to look up kilt makers as soon as they returned to Cardiff.

Jack leered at Ianto, slowly closing one eye in a lascivious wink as he read Ianto's thoughts, clearly visible on his face, and deliberately slid his hand across from his knee to Ianto's thigh. At his touch he felt a tiny shudder under his hand and he smiled broadly, but Ianto batted his hand away.

"Not while I'm driving, Jack," he scolded, softening the rejection by lifting his hand to stroke Jack's cheek before returning it to the steering wheel.

Jack settled back in his seat with a soft sigh of disappointment.

"We could stop..." Jack's tone was wheedling.

"It'll be going on midnight before we get there as it is," Ianto said apologetically. "Patience Jack, we've got six whole days off."

"Six?" Jack frowned. "I thought we were going away for the weekend. Gwen'll..."

"Be fine," Ianto interrupted with an expression of pure mischief. "It's all sorted. Gwen, Martha and Mickey can hold the fort and there are a couple of UNIT guys on standby just in case. I have Gwen's word she won't call us back for anything less than a condition mauve alert." He looked at Jack's somewhat dumbstruck expression and chuckled.

"What? You think you're the only one capable of being sneaky? Just sit back and enjoy the ride, Jack." With a smirk he leant forward and turned on the stereo, filling the SUV with soft music piped from his music player, then hiked up the volume.

"All right, I'll play ball, but just because it's you." Jack grinned and laid his head back on the headrest, closing his eyes.

The miles fell away as Ianto drove through the darkness, enjoying the empty roads and the sound of his favourite tracks blasting from the speakers, an eclectic mix of songs from a dozen different genres and decades, mostly from before his run in with the 456. Relaxed and content, he began to sing along with the music, his voice surprisingly deep and melodious, reminding Jack of Ianto's brief stint as an opera singer. For a time he let the soothing sound of Ianto's voice wash over him, lulling him almost to sleep.

_Sing, bird of prey;  
>Beauty begins at the foot of you. Do you believe the manner?<br>Gold stainless nail,  
>Torn through the distance of man<br>As they regard the summit._

"So, you never did explain the fascination for prog rock, Yan" Jack said suddenly, the seemingly incomprehensible lyrics resurrecting an age old curiosity in Ianto's listening habits. "It seems a bit, well, new age for you, not to mention two decades too early."

Ianto flushed slightly, and kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road.

"It was Mam's favourite. When I was growing up, she'd play this stuff for hours on end – whenever Dad was out of the house. He hated it, said it was hippy nonsense. She said whenever she listened to it she could let her mind soar free, leave behind the humdrum realities of life. I didn't understand what she really meant then, but the only time I ever saw her really content was when she was sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea, eyes closed, with prog rock belting out full blast from the stereo."

Jack watched Ianto's lips curve in a soft smile as he remembered and found himself smiling at the image Ianto's words set against the soaring music, still emanating from the car's stereo, had created.

"When I hit my teens there came that moment, the one where you embrace the music of your parents or reject it totally. I embraced it, Rhiannon rejected it in favour of Take That. I think part of the reason I love it is because Mam did. After she died I always felt comforted when I listened to it, I still do if I'm honest. And I understand what she meant about it freeing your mind – I listened to it a lot when I was stranded in your mind, Jack. I know that sound's crazy but I honestly believe it helped to keep me sane."

The last sentence was a whisper, almost lost under the closing bars of the track, and Ianto's expression was far away.

The track changed to something upbeat and disco, and also firmly set in the 70s. Jack coughed, trying to break Ianto out of his reverie.

"So you've explained the 70s prog rock, but Chic?"

"_Le__Freak_," Ianto countered, in time to the music, his face breaking into a wicked grin as he met Jack's eyes. "I have to confess this is another daydream track for me. You, tight-arsed in white flares, strutting your stuff on the dance floor. Stella Courtney has a lot to answer for. _Freak__out..._"

With a mischievous wink he turned his eyes back to the road, his fingers tapping out the rhythm on the steering wheel, his deep voice once more echoing the lyrics.

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><p>Half an hour later a motorway sign proclaimed that they were passing Sheffield.<p>

"We're not going to Leeds, are we?" Jack blurted out abruptly, sitting upright so quickly it made Ianto jump in his seat.

Ianto shot him a puzzled look but shook his head, "No, just passing through. Why? What hideous alien menace did you encounter in Leeds? Or was it another ex-lover of ours?" This last enquiry was accompanied by an innocently raised eyebrow.

Jack's brow creased in a tiny frown. "No, nothing like that, in fact Leeds holds some very entertaining memories. No, it was Donna. She had this irrational hatred of the place, wouldn't go near it. When I took Sîan to the Royal Armouries, Donna made us stay in York and wouldn't come with us round the museum. She said the place gave her the creeps." Jack gave a shrug. "Women - Donna especially – the most alien species in existence."

"If she heard you saying that, you'd be recovering from another gruesome death," Ianto chuckled.

Jack gave a mock shudder. "Don't remind me, the last one was bad enough." He settled back in his seat, looking at the illuminated clock display which proclaimed it was after ten. "So have we far to go?"

"Another three-quarters of an hour. I said we'd be there about eleven."

Jack's eyes flared with interest. "So someone's expecting us," he said thoughtfully.

"Yes, Jack," Ianto said with as much condescension as he could manage. "We are staying somewhere where someone has to let us into our room. You've just narrowed it down to every hotel and B&B in the North of England. Do you have any more gems of insight?" With a smug smile he turned his attention back to the road.

"Why do I put up with you?" Jack muttered, fighting the reluctant smile which was aching to curve his lips.

"Because you love me," Ianto replied loftily, "and despite all the mock sulks, I think you're rather enjoying the fact that I've arranged something which is a genuine surprise for you."

Jack wisely chose to remain silent, instead closing his eyes and leaning back as though their final destination was of no importance to him.

Ten minutes later soft snores from the passenger seat told Ianto that his husband's feigned sleep had transformed into the real thing. With an amused smile he turned down the music volume until it was little more than a low murmur and hummed softly, the sound a gentle lullaby.

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><p>After another ten minutes, Ianto pulled off the motorway, looping down into Leeds city centre, the darkness giving way to the soft white glow of the street lamps. He had no need of the SUV's satnav, the route etched firmly in his memory. He was pleased to see that the city centre had not changed a great deal in the last twenty-four years. There were new skyscrapers jutting up above the carefully preserved ornate Victorian architecture which graced the centre of the city. Leeds' first skyscraper, which he'd privately christened the 'Dalek' building on his last trip over twenty years earlier, due to its hauntingly familiar profile, was now dwarfed by taller structures around it. The SUV pulled past the railway station, emerging from the 'Dark Arches', a warren of Victorian tunnels formed by the arching structures of red brick viaducts carrying the railway tracks of Leeds station above the river Aire, into the bright modern expanse of City Square, still bearing the familiar statue of the Black Prince. The world Ianto knew had changed so much while he had been in suspended animation and he felt a wave of comforting nostalgia sweep over him at the familiar surroundings. With a smile of remembrance he took the A65 out of the city centre heading towards the Yorkshire Dales. The suburbs of Leeds extended further than Ianto remembered, hardly surprising given the amount of time that had elapsed since he was last up this way, but eventually he reached the turning that took him away from the houses and street lights and up onto dark moorland.<p>

The road snaked away into the darkness, the headlights picking out the cats eyes marking the centre of the road, and Ianto dropped his speed, negotiating the sudden twists and turns of the road with ease. He loved this, driving in the inky blackness, the only lights his own headlights on the road and the smattering of stars visible through the windscreen. It gave him a sense of being both alone and a part of the wide universe at the same time. Usually, when he'd made this trip in the past, he had been alone. He'd never brought anyone with him, not even Lisa. This had always been his escape and he'd cherished the privacy and solitude it brought him, but this past year he'd found himself longing to share his retreat with Jack. Now there was somewhere they could retreat to together... assuming Jack didn't hate it of course. At the thought of what was waiting for them he gave a low chuckle which roused his husband from his slumber with a loud yawn.

With sleepy, blinking eyes, Jack looked with some confusion at the featureless black landscape around them.

"Where the hell are we? Have we fallen off the edge of the world?"

Ianto grinned, his teeth orange in the glow from the illuminated dashboard. "Not quite. We'll be there in five minutes."

As he spoke the SUV began to drop down into a valley, the occasional street light coming once more into view. Just before the SUV reached the valley floor Ianto slowed and indicated, pulling into a wide gravel car park. A long low house, a single outside light above the door, lay at one end. Ianto parked the SUV at the furthest end of the car park and killed the engine. Leaning back in his seat he stretched, his limbs awkward in the confined space.

"So where are we?" Jack asked, looking about the dark car park. "As surprises go this is pretty..." He searched for a word that wouldn't upset his partner. "Underwhelming," he finished, wincing at his choice. To his relief Ianto merely repeated the mysterious smile he'd been affecting for the last week every time Jack had mentioned their anniversary plans.

"Snaygill," he said softly. "Near Skipton. My second favourite place in the whole world."

Jack unbuckled his seat belt and leaned across, pulling Ianto in for a chaste, gentle kiss. "I hope I'm right in thinking where your favourite place is," he said huskily. Ianto looked thoughtful, as though deliberating his answer, but his slate blue eyes, intently boring into Jack's, told Jack everything he needed to know.

After holding Jack's gaze for a full minute Ianto pulled away, unfastening his own seat belt and opening the car door. A stiff, cool breeze immediately swept into the SUV's interior, robbing it of the heat which had cocooned them for the drive. Ianto gave a single sharp shiver and dragged the coat he had stuffed into the footwell behind the driver's seat out, hurriedly pulling it on over his T-shirt.

Jack climbed out to join him, looking in dismay at the low red brick building. A cute country cottage it wasn't, looking more like a seventies council bungalow than a romantic country retreat. Ianto saw his look and smirked.

"We're not staying there," he assured him. "Come on." As he spoke he opened the SUV's boot and pulled out a holdall which he handed to Jack before reaching in and pulling out a second. Closing the boot and locking the doors he turned and vanished into the darkness across the car park towards the building. Jack followed, noticing that Ianto was not aiming for the building itself but instead towards a dark flight of stairs to its right which descended into blackness down the hill. It was only as Jack began to make his way carefully down the stairs, his eyes still not quite accustomed to the darkness, that he saw a welcoming glow of light a few feet below him reflecting off a still, dark body of water.

As he and Ianto reached the bottom of the stairs, there was a clack and a few meters off to his right a hatchway opened, a figure emerging silhouetted against soft lamplight.

"Mr Thwaite?" Ianto offered a hand to the figure, who Jack could now see was an old man in his eighties. The old man stepped forward up and out of the hatchway, allowing the light from within to fall across the distinctive wooden planks of a deck and onto the river bank on which Jack stood.

In the darkness Jack grinned. A boat. Of course, he should have guessed.

"Aye. Mr Jones?" the old man said gruffly, his weathered face split in a wide grin. "Why, if y'ain't spittin' image of yer fa'ther. Aye w'reet sorry t'hear e'd died. A young 'un like 'at. E'ry year h'come, reg'lar as clockwork. Practic'ly a Tyke h'wer." The old man shook his head sorrowfully. "Fancy leavin' you an' yer Ma alone. Not tha' I ever met yer Ma. Allus came alone, he did. Anyhows, I reckon e'd be reet med up that yus picked up where h'left off."

Mr Thwaite beamed at the two men. "An' yull be?" he asked, looking Jack up and down appraisingly.

"My husband, Jack," Ianto said smoothly without a trace of self consciousness.

The old man's smile grew broader. "Well, ain't tha' grand. I allus said it wer a reet shame yer fa'ther allus came on his tod, no'ons to share 't wi. Here's t'keys, lad. I tek it tha knows how t'drive 'er?"

Ianto nodded and took the proffered keys with a smile almost as broad as the old man's. "I'm an old hand, Tom," he assured him.

Mr Thwaite blinked in surprise. For a moment the young man before him had not only looked eerily like his father of twenty five years ago but had sounded exactly like him as well. If he hadn't known it was impossible, at that instant he could have sworn it was the same man. Bah, he was getting old, he berated himself. The Ianto Jones he knew would have been pushing fifty by now and this young lad was only in his mid-twenties at most.

"Aye, well. I'll sa' good nite." He ducked his head in a gesture of farewell. "Sh'is all fuelled up an' ready f'morning. Oh, 'an Ellen go t'supplies th'ordered. Ay'll see thee ina few days." Without waiting for a reply he trudged up the steps towards the low red brick house.

Ianto turned to Jack, the grin now distinctly mischievous.

"So, a boat on the river," Jack said raising one eyebrow. "Is this your sailor fetish finally coming to the surface?"

"It's a barge on a canal," Ianto corrected. "And as I recall it's you that had the thing for sailors."

"Before you," Jack assured him, only half-joking. He wanted Ianto to know that from now on there would only ever be him.

"Before me," Ianto agreed. "So, do you want to see our barge?"

"Lead on, Cap'n," Jack said bowing low.

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><p>A short flight of three steep steps led down from the hatchway into the narrow interior of the barge. It wasn't the first time Jack had been on a narrowboat; he'd once done a stint as a bargeman on the canals back in the 1890s, not long after he'd arrived back on Earth, but he'd never seen a barge like this. Whilst the idea of a canal barge was quaint and olde-worldy the interior of this barge was outfitted more like a New York loft apartment, albeit on a much more compact scale. The sleek lines of a galley kitchen ran along one wall, minimalist but functional in pale wood and black granite. Beyond the kitchen lay a dark leather couch, L-shaped to create a cozy nook around a wood burning stove. A partitioning door gave way into a single bedroom, filled almost wall to wall with a king sized bed and beyond that a contemporary wet room filled the remaining space.<p>

Jack gave a low whistle as he walked down the length of the boat and back again.

"Very nice," he said appreciatively. "Narrowboats have certainly come on some. I'm surprised you can hire something like this."

There was a deafening silence from Ianto who was still stood in the galley kitchen, now shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking a good deal younger than his years. Jack raised an eyebrow at him.

"Ianto?"

Ianto coughed and gave a sheepish grin. "I didn't hire it," he said hesitatingly. "I... We own it."

Jack gave an abrupt laugh. "You bought a barge?"

For a split second Ianto's face flickered with hurt at Jack's incredulous tone, but eventually it settled into a reluctant smile.

"Twenty two years of back pay kind of adds up. I had to spend it on something. This seemed as good as anything. It was a shell when I bought it. All this," he waved his arm about the interior, "is Mr Thwaite's work."

Jack dropped his holdall onto the couch and crossed back to Ianto, pulling him into a bruising kiss. Ianto relaxed into Jack's hold, parting his lips to allow Jack access, savouring the sensation of his husband's warm lips on his own, his breath releasing in a long contented sigh.

At the sound Jack raised his head. His eyes, dark with desire met Ianto's and saw his own longing mirrored there.

"What do you say we try out that bed Mr Thwaite installed?" As he spoke he ran his thumb along the length of Ianto's jaw, eliciting a shiver of need from the younger man.

Ianto nodded, deliberately reaching behind him and switching off the lights in the main cabin, leaving only the flickering orange glow from the wood burning stove and the soft lighting filtering through from the bedroom. Then with a smile that was pure wickedness he pushed past Jack, ensuring that his husband was in no doubt as to just how much he wanted him, and vanished into the bedroom with Jack hot on his heels.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Who-verse. That honour belongs to RTD (the TW arm at least – Miracle Day, what were you thinking?), Steven Moffat (I am not worthy) and the mighty and glorious BBC. I merely play here occasionally and try to set right the terrible wrongs inflicted on Jack and Ianto...**

**Thank you to everyone for reading and, as always, feedback is very welcome. **

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><p>Ianto shrugged out of his padded jacket, letting it drop onto the end of the bed, his eyes never leaving Jack who had already divested himself of his greatcoat (slung over the couch in the living area) and his shirt (pooled on the floor at the foot of the bed) and was now stepping out of his canvas trousers. Ianto swallowed at the view of Jack's long muscular legs. They'd been married a year but the sight of his husband's lean limbs still had the power to take his breath away and his fingers fumbled as they pulled the T-shirt from the waistband of his jeans. Jack, now gloriously naked, looked across at him, the smile on his face turned up to a million megawatts, and sprawled across the crisp white duvet, his eyes frankly appreciative as Ianto concluded his own striptease.<p>

Ianto swept his discarded clothing to the floor with an impatient hand, uncaring of the messy pile they made, and practically dived into Jack's waiting arms. Covering Jack's body with his own, Ianto pushed Jack's head into the duvet, devouring Jack's mouth like a man possessed. Jack's arms snaked around Ianto's shoulders, one hand clasping the back of Ianto's head and pulling him down even further so that he couldn't have pulled away even if he'd wanted to. In turn Ianto's fingers buried themselves in Jack's hair. Ianto's kiss was almost frantic, his tongue first diving deep into his husband's mouth then retreating so that Ianto could run the tip along the sharp edge of Jack's teeth before meeting Jack's tongue in a fierce duel. A guttural moan escaped Jack's lips, inflaming Ianto still further. Ripping his fingers from Jack's hair, his hands sought out Jack's, forcing him to release his hold, but Jack's hands evaded capture, leaving Ianto's fingers scrabbling for purchase in the duvet at either side of Jack's head. Lifting his mouth from Jack's, his lips instead sought out the soft skin of his husband's neck, alternating tender suckling with eager nips, intent on leaving his mark for everyone to see.

Finding his mouth released but unable to move, pinned to the bed by Ianto's weight, Jack gasped Ianto's name, a plea for more. At the same time his hands landed in the small of Ianto's back and journeyed up and down the length of his spine, his fingertips dancing across the heated skin in vague circles. Ianto shuddered, biting down hard on Jack's neck, eliciting a yelp of pain from the older man. Ianto's lips and tongue immediately soothed away the hurt, then he raised his head to meet Jack's heated gaze.

"Sorry, cariad," he apologised softly. In response Jack smiled lazily and in one swift movement flipped Ianto onto his back, reversing their positions. Ianto's startled cry was smothered as Jack's mouth came down fiercely upon his, his husband's tongue thrusting aggressively into his mouth. In his ears he could hear his own aborted cry transform into a whimper as Jack's hands brushed featherlight against his hip before grasping his wrists and pinning them to the bed. Without releasing his hands or his mouth, Jack ground his hips down, the friction sending Ianto's trapped hips into spasms as he tried to buck against Jack. At the same moment, Jack bit down on Ianto's lower lip, drawing a bead of blood as the younger man let out a guttural chocking cry. Jack lifted his head, his eyes so dark they appeared black in the subdued lighting of the cabin, and delicately and deliberately licked the drop of blood from Ianto's lip. Then lowering his head once more he circled the wound with his lips and sucked hard, Ianto's blood flowing into his mouth. All the time his dark eyes fixed on his husband's, looking for any sign that he had gone too far. This wasn't the first time they had played rough, or even indulged in bloodplay, but he was aware how fine the line was between pleasurable pain and cruelty and he never wanted to cross it. Not with Ianto.

Ianto's eyes flared and he moaned in pleasure. Jack smiled against Ianto's mouth, releasing his hold, and ran his tongue along the profile of Ianto's chin and down his throat. Reaching his collarbone, Jack bit down again, catching a soft fold of skin between his teeth in a nip that was just the far side of playful. He felt Ianto draw a sharp breath, but it was accompanied by a long drawn out shudder of need. Jack caught the fold of skin between his teeth again, this time holding it with just the slightest pressure so that any movement from Ianto would tug against the sharp edges. The shudder was repeated, the movement drawing another intake of breath from Ianto which this time carried Jack's name.

Jack let go, instead driving his hips down again, pushing Ianto's deeper into the soft mattress.

"Jack, please." Ianto's breath was coming in shallow gasps.

"Not yet," Jack said lazily. "I'm not ready." As he spoke he slid his back side down so that it was nestled between Ianto thighs and leaned forward to take one of Ianto's nipples between his teeth, biting and laving in alternate movements. Ianto bucked against him, his hands fighting for freedom, but Jack's hold was inflexible.

"Patience," scolded Jack as he moved his mouth across Ianto's chest to transfer his attentions to the other neglected nub.

"Fuck patience," Ianto muttered between gasps, his hands fluttering beneath Jack's, desperate to reciprocate Jack's touch.

Jack lifted his mouth free long enough to make a tutting noise, tangled his fingers with Ianto's, curbing even that small measure of movement, and let his teeth graze across the sensitive skin of Ianto's chest. There was a helpless whimper of need from his partner, small and yet completely intoxicating. Jack felt an echoing tremor run through his own frame at the sound.

Jack's eyes lifted to meet Ianto's pleading ones.

"I want you to scream," he growled.

Ianto's head, the only part of him free to move, thrashed from side to side. "I can't, not here," he protested weakly. "The neighbours."

"I thought we didn't care about things like that?" Jack said, dipping his head once more to lave open mouth kisses in a slow progression down Ianto's chest and onto his stomach.

Ianto moaned. A few more inches and he knew no power on Earth would be able to stop him screaming Jack's name into the night, let alone the thought of the shocked expressions of a few of his narrowboat neighbours come the morning.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Ianto was so focused on the hot spiralling desire radiating from low in his belly that he almost missed Jack's quiet question. Suddenly Jack's face was looming above his, eyes soft but serious.

"Do you want me to stop?" he repeated softly. "I will if this bothers you." As he spoke he released Ianto's hands from their imprisonment, his own coming to rest either side of Ianto's shoulders, their touch a fiery brand on his skin.

Ianto swallowed and licked his lips, tasting the faint metallic tang of his own blood on his tongue. He drew in a shaky breath and took Jack's face between his hands, guiding him back down to his heated skin.

"Never stop, Jack. Not ever."

* * *

><p>The smell of freshly brewed coffee and frying bacon tempted Jack out of sleep, his eyes reluctantly opening to be assaulted by bright spring sunshine pouring through the porthole above the bed. With a groan he lifted his head a few centimetres from the pillow, taking in the empty bed and the heavy white duvet which had obviously been tucked carefully around his shoulders by the departing Ianto. Clearly a long lazy morning between the sheets – one of Jack's absolute favourite pastimes – was not on his husband's agenda. Judging by the light slanting down onto the covers, it was still fairly early. He groaned again. Weren't they supposed to be on holiday?<p>

At the sound of his waking protestations, Ianto stuck his head around the partitioning door, his face cheery and obscenely awake.

"Morning, cariad. Breakfast in five? We need to get on our way."

Jack noticed with some amusement that Ianto appeared to be bouncing on the balls of his feet like an over-enthusiastic six-year-old. He turned over, freeing himself from the confines of the duvet, and pushed himself up into a sitting position, propping the pillow behind him so he could lean back on the wood panelled wall.

He deliberately let the duvet fall low on his hips and cocked one eyebrow suggestively.

"What's the rush? It's still early. Wouldn't you prefer to come back to bed?"

For a moment Ianto looked tempted, his eyes flaring, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, but then he shook his head with an apologetic smile.

"Can I take a rain check? We really need to get going if we're going to get to Gargrave by lunchtime." His words was accompanied by full-on puppy dog pleading eyes directed squarely at Jack.

Jack gave a snort of laughter. Those eyes got him every time.

"OK, a rain check it is." Pushing the duvet from him, he slowly climbed to his feet, each movement exaggerated to give Ianto the best possible view of exactly what he was missing.

"Playing dirty, Jack," Ianto muttered, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of the long limbs and firm backside currently being displayed.

"Hey, I call them as I see them," Jack countered with a cheeky grin over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bathroom. Ianto swallowed hard and resolutely turned his back on the bedroom, thinking that the bacon sarnies he'd been looking forward to were suddenly much lower down on this mornings list of priorities.

* * *

><p>When Jack emerged from the bedroom ten minutes later, the long legs and firm backside were encased in a pair of snug black denim jeans that sent Ianto's imagination spiralling off into dangerous territory once again. Jack pulled a plain, fitted black tee over his head, his dark hair tousled and still damp from the shower, and threw himself full length onto the L-shaped couch, crossing his arms behind his head.<p>

"You promised me breakfast," he said cheerily, looking across to Ianto stood in the galley kitchen, open-mouthed and brandishing a spatula. Jack's eyes ran appreciatively over his husband, taking in the faded blue jeans and even more faded T-shirt, a tea towel tucked into the waistband to form a makeshift apron. "Feed me."

Ianto's eyebrows raised a fraction in amusement.

"Are you planning on auditioning for Grease, Jack? All you need is a leather jacket and a quiff and you'll be all set to join the T-Birds."

Jack grinned and teased his damp hair into an untidy coiffure. "If I'm Danny, will you be my Sandy?" he asked laughingly.

Ianto grimaced and shuddered in distaste that was in no way faked. "Over my dead body," he said matter-of-factly. "Actually over my long dead rotting corpse buried at the bottom of a pit for a hundred thousand years. You have no concept of how much I hate that musical." He gave another shudder.

Jack's face fell. "Does that mean you don't like my outfit?"

Ianto cocked his head to one side and allowed his eyes to travel along the length of Jack's supine form as though considering his verdict. His lips twitched.

"It works," he conceded with feigned reluctance. "How many of those t-shirts did you bring?" he asked after a pause. He didn't see it surviving being ripped off Jack's back, something he intended to do first chance he got.

"Enough," Jack replied smoothly with a wicked smile, reading his husband's intentions clearly on Ianto's face.

Ianto swallowed and turned back to the stove to hide the smile of anticipation that he knew had sprung to his lips.

"I doubt it," he retorted, just loud enough for Jack to hear.

On the hob a heavy iron frying pan was filled with half a dozen sizzling rashers of thickly cut bacon edged with crispy fat. The smell was divine, making Ianto's mouth water. He considered himself a pretty health conscious individual but bacon was sacred and deserved every consideration. Twirling the spatula between two fingers he lifted the bacon from the frying pan into the grill pan, sliding it under the grill to keep warm and tipped a chopping board full of sliced field mushrooms into the hot pan tossing them in the bacon fat. Then he pulled two heavy earthenware mugs from a cupboard and filled them with freshly brewed coffee, adding milk and sugar to Jack's and just milk to his own.

"I'm wasting away here," Jack's piped up plaintively. "At least give me coffee."

Ianto smirked, keeping his back firmly turned. "Patience, cariad." He could feel Jack's evil look boring into his back. "Payback's a bitch, ain't it?" He didn't bother to hide the smug satisfaction in his voice. He was still congratulating himself on his revenge for the previous evening when Jack wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him back against his chest, his hips thrust forward so that Ianto could feel Jack along the whole length of his body. Jack's free hand deftly released the button of Ianto's jeans and he worked his fingers inside the soft worn denim before Ianto had time to do more than let out a faint squeak of surprise.

Jack flattened his hand against Ianto's stomach, pulled the younger man even closer to him and lifted his lips to Ianto's ear.

"You were saying?"

Ianto squirmed against Jack's hand. "Bacon sandwiches, with mushrooms," he said desperately, waving the spatula high enough so Jack could see it. "And coffee, lots of coffee."

"And what makes you think I'll be swayed by mere food?" Jack's voice was silky as he drummed his fingers once against Ianto's taut stomach. He felt a tremor under his finger tips and smirked against Ianto's neck, then realised the tremor was not one of desire, but mirth. Almost at the instant he realised that, Ianto let out the snort of derisive laughter he'd been trying to stifle.

"Oh, please. After a night like last night you're usually practically ready to chew the carpet. I could hear your stomach rumbling from here." To lend support to Ianto's argument, Jack's stomach chose that moment to give a loud and protracted growl.

"You know me too well," Jack grumbled, stepping back and extricating his hand from inside Ianto's jeans with a final departing caress. Ianto caught the hand and held it as he turned to face Jack, raising it to his lips and placing a deliberate and open mouthed kiss on the palm.

"Yes, I do, and don't think for a minute this is over, cariad," he warned gently. "You know how I hate unfinished business." Turning back to the hob he turned off the gas, and busied himself piling rashers of bacon and fried mushrooms between thick slices of crusty white bread cut from a fresh loaf. He picked up one plate and a mug and turned round, thrusting them into Jack's waiting hands.

"Breakfast is served," he announced, watching Jack's eyes light up hungrily at the sight of the very generous portion on his plate.

"About bloody time," Jack replied breezily. "A man could die waiting for you to..." He trailed off at the sight of the arched eyebrow aimed menacingly in his direction and instead retreated to the sofa, gulping coffee as he did so.

Ianto smiled sweetly and picked up his own plate and mug, sitting at the opposite end of the sofa, as far away from Jack's potential wandering hands as he could manage.

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later Ianto poked his head up through the hatch and took a deep breath. The April air was crisp, carrying the peaty smell of the neighbouring moors, overlaid by the faint acrid smell of engine oil. Ianto loved it. It was a smell he associated with some of the happiest times of his life, the few times he had felt completely at peace, and though it was over twenty years since he had last visited, the remembrance was instantaneous. With a broad smile of pure contentment he clambered up the steep almost ladder-like steps up onto the tiny square of deck, the keys for the engine clasped in one hand. As he straightened he found himself looking into the dour face of a middle aged woman who was sat on the equally tiny fore deck of the adjacent barge. Her eyes raked Ianto up and down, her mouth, a thin line in her thin face, was turned downwards in a moue of distaste.<p>

"Good morning," Ianto began politely, his greeting tailing away as the woman lifted her beak-like nose a good inch in the air to stare at him down its length.

"You must be Mr Jones," she said dryly, her voice carrying an unpleasant nasal quality. From her accent Ianto recognised that she wasn't local but from somewhere in the south of the country. "Mr Thwaite warned us you were coming last night. I didn't expect your arrival to be so noisy." She sniffed in disapproval. "There are rules about excessive noise after dusk." It was all Ianto could do not to snort with laughter at the woman's unintentional faux pas but before he had chance to do more than school his features into a semblance of seriousness, a lazy American drawl issued from behind him.

"I must apologise for my husband, ma'am. He's a bit of a screamer." Ianto opened his mouth to reprimand Jack but the only sound that came out was a chocking cough. Jack climbed up out of the hatch and thumped Ianto on the back, pulling the young man to him whilst at the same time turning his tried and tested smile of easy charm and winsome innocence on the woman. She blinked at him, somewhat disconcerted, but her expression grew even more wintery.

"And you are?" Her eyes raked up and down Jack's form with even more disapproval than they had Ianto's.

Jack's eyebrows rose a little in surprise. It was rare that his 'forgive-me-I'm-adorable' smile failed to charm a member of the opposite sex, or the same sex for that matter. His own smile grew cool in response.

"I am Captain Jack Harkness-Jones. I apologise if we disturbed you. As we are moving on this morning, please be assured that our presence will no longer be a cause for concern." His tone, though polite, had an edge of menace.

The woman's expression remained sceptical; clearly the black tee and jeans combo was less imposing than his traditional greatcoat.

"A Captain of what, may I ask?" she said haughtily.

Ianto noticed that their exchange with the woman was now being observed by the occupants of two other boats, not to mention a couple on the towpath walking a large red setter.

"Jack," he said warningly under his breath. Jack ran his hand up and down Ianto's arm reassuringly, drawing a tiny breath from the woman.

Jack saw the tiny movement and all the friendliness vanished from his face in an instant.

"Torchwood," he said quietly, watching with satisfaction as every vestige of colour drained from the woman's face. In the time since the 456, Torchwood's existence and remit had become public knowledge, although the extent and methods of its operation were still shrouded in secrecy and the name was still spoken in hushed whispers by those who dared to speak its name at all. "And who do I have pleasure of speaking to?"

Ianto could see the woman was desperate not to answer but had no alternative.

"Miss Jenkinson. Caroline Jenkinson." Her reply was the merest whisper but Jack's ears caught it.

"Miss Jenkinson," Jack said thoughtfully, and then, as an aside to Ianto, "Figures," before turning back. "Miss Jenkinson, Caroline. I may call you Caroline, may I?" The woman made no response. "Well, Caroline, as I said I am sorry we woke you, but we are moving on to Gargrave this morning." he looked to Ianto for confirmation, who nodded. "So there is no need for our paths to cross again, is there?"

He held Miss Jenkinson's gaze until she looked away and stammered, "I...I was planning on moving on towards Leeds today."

"Lovely. Good day to you, Miss Jenkinson," he said smoothly, turning his back on the woman without another glance and dropping a kiss onto Ianto's lips.

He heard a scuffling and the click of a door behind him and he knew that Miss Jenkinson had made a swift retreat. He grinned.

"I love messing with the locals."

"That was cruel, Jack," Ianto scolded, though his smile was broad.

"She deserved it. Who does she think she is to pass judgement on us? I mean those attitudes died out twenty years ago," Jack said heatedly.

Ianto leaned in to return Jack's kiss.

"I love it that you're still fighting monsters for me, cariad."

Jack's brow lightened. He was just about to respond in kind when a call of "Mornin'" drew his attention. Looking over Ianto's shoulder he saw a round-faced, rotund man in his sixties waving at him from the next barge along.

"Hello," Jack called back, a little reserved and half expecting more disapproving frowns.

"My name's Pete. Peter Thatcher. I just wanted to say thank you for putting the fear of god into that ferret-faced Jenkinson woman. She's been lording it here like queen of the canal for the best part of a sen'night. I thought we'd never get rid of her."

"Glad I could oblige," Jack said cheerily, relaxing once more.

"Tell me. Do you really work for Torchwood?" Pete asked curiously. "Or was that just something to frighten her with?"

Jack's grinned wickedly. "I don't work for Torchwood," he said almost conspiratorially, although everyone for three boats either side could hear him. "I run Torchwood." He saw Pete's eyes widen and the man's smile grow nervous, and he laughed. "Don't worry, we're a bunch of pussy cats unless you're an alien menace trying to take over the world. Then we really kick ass."

Pete's face relaxed a fraction, then tensed again as the thought of why Jack and Ianto might be there filtered through. Seeing the sudden fear, Jack relented, taking pity on him. "Honest, Pete, today Ianto and I are just a couple celebrating their wedding anniversary. No kicking ass, no alien menace – well, unless you count Miss Jenkinson there. There is definitely a trace of Gr'boxi DNA in there somewhere." He smiled reassuringly at Pete.

"Congratulations," Pete offered, his face easing. "I'll let you get on. Enjoy your holiday."

"Thank you," Jack said sincerely. "And I apologise if we woke you last night."

"Nah, Steve and I rather enjoyed the show." Pete winked at a slim man in his fifties stood on the tow path with a bottle of milk and a newspaper. The man nodded back and gave Jack a cheeky wink.

"Highly entertaining," he commented. "Gave me lots of new ideas. Thanks."

Jack's grin grew even more wicked. "Like I said, glad I could oblige."

Steve and Pete disappeared into their barge, and Jack turned to find Ianto staring at him with an amused expression.

"When you've quite finished messing with the locals..." He pointed to the ropes securing the boat to the mooring fore and aft. "Untie us... and don't fall in!"

He turned his back on Jack and started up the engine, the diesel motor coughing and spluttering to life for several seconds before a throaty throb filled the air.

Jack jumped onto the quay, moving to the front of the barge to cast off the rope there before returning aft to release the boat from its mooring. The boat began to manoeuvre away from the mooring under Ianto's practised steering and Jack leapt deftly onto the deck to stand against the cabin housing watching Ianto's face, stern with concentration, as he manned the tiller.

After several minutes the crowded mooring of the boatyard vanished around the first bend.

"Alone at last," Jack commented with relief.

"Just you, me and Myfanwy," Ianto agreed with a contented smile. "The boat," he added seeing a tiny adorable frown of confusion on his husband's face. "She brought us together."

"Literally and painfully," Jack commented in fond recollection. "That warehouse floor was hard."

Ianto raised one sardonic eyebrow. "Speaks Jack Harkness, the immortal. You big baby. Why don't you make yourself useful and go get me a cup of coffee?"

Jack raised his hand in a sharp salute, "Aye aye, sir," and vanished into the cabin.

Ianto looked about him; at the dark almost still water, the surface broken only by the slow wake of the engine and the occasional duck swimming across their path; at the low overhanging branches which at the bank almost touched the water, speckled with dark green buds which in just a few short weeks would erupt into a sea of green shady leaves; at the gleaming paintwork of Myfanwy, his boat, the one thing apart from Jack that he had always wanted.

He ran his hand lovingly over the gleaming black enamel finish of the guard rail.

"Should I be jealous?"

Jack climbed awkwardly out of the cabin, his tall stature making the narrow entranceway difficult to negotiate. He held out a mug of coffee to Ianto.

"Thanks," he said taking it in one hand and sipping it appreciatively.

"So," Jack mused, taking a sip of his own coffee. "What do we do now?"

Ianto smiled. "We lay back and watch the world go by at the exhilarating speed of three miles an hour."

"And that's it?" Jack's question was incredulous. Ianto could already see him fidget at the thought of prolonged inactivity.

"And that's it, Jack. We spend our lives running about, always trying to keep one step ahead of whatever is out there. I want to stop, just for a moment, and you need to. That's what this is about."

"What do you mean, I need to stop?" This time his question was defensive.

Ianto's voice was patient. "You've lived for centuries, Jack, and you've done some amazing things, seen some amazing things, but you're always on the move. Moving on to the next experience. Before the 456 we squandered the time we had because there was always something to fight, some reason to keep running. We didn't have a choice back then, I know that. But we were lucky, we got another shot, and I don't intend to squander one second of the time we have now. So that's why we're here. Nothing to fight, no reason to run, just time to live in the moment. Try it, you might find you enjoy it."

Jack looked uncertain. "I'm not sure I'm capable of being still," he muttered.

"Climb up on the roof, lie on your back and watch the sky go by," Ianto advised. "And while you're there think of all that unfinished business I have planned for you for later."

Jack set his coffee cup down on the roof of the cabin.

"Permission to approach," he said softly.

"Permission granted." Two steps and Jack was facing Ianto.

"Permission to come aboard, sir." The 'sir' was spoken in a deferential whisper.

Ianto inclined his head in assent and Jack lowered his lips to Ianto's in a tender kiss which he did not try to deepen, pulling his head away after just a few moments.

"Lie back, look at the sky and think of you. I think I can manage that."

Jack pulled himself up onto the cabin roof, lying full length with his arms behind his head, face turned towards the blue sky above. Ianto smiled as tranquillity resumed. A few moments later, a jaunty whistle rose from above the cabin. Ianto groaned as 'What Shall We Do With A Drunken Sailor' shattered the silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Who-verse. That honour belongs to RTD (the TW arm at least – Miracle Day, what were you thinking?), Steven Moffat (I am not worthy) and the mighty and glorious BBC. I merely play here occasionally and try to set right the terrible wrongs inflicted on Jack and Ianto...**

**I'm sorry this update has taken so long to materialise; everything, including my muse, got away from me for a while...**

**Thank you to everyone for reading and, as always, feedback is very welcome.**

* * *

><p>"Jack."<p>

Ianto's call jerked Jack back into consciousness. He blinked at the bright sunlight shining down into his face and pushed himself up onto his elbows groggily, his mouth opening wide in a long yawn.

"You were snoring," Ianto informed him in amusement. "I was assuming you didn't want the whole of Skipton to hear you."

Jack turned over, leaning on his elbows to observe Ianto's frankly smug grin, and realised that the green fields and shady trees that bordered the canal had given way to attractive buildings fashioned from sandy grey stone.

"You were the one who told me to relax and contemplate the world going by," Jack said accusingly, though his mouth was curved in a smile. "Why have we stopped?" he added suddenly noticing that the narrowboat was stationary, the engine silent.

"It's a little after one, I thought you might be peckish," Ianto said mildly, refusing to rise to the bait. There was a sudden gleam in Jack's eyes.

"For food," Ianto clarified hurriedly. "There used to be a fabulous chippy just over the bridge. I was going to bob up and see if it was still there."

For a moment Jack looked crestfallen but then his brow cleared and he grinned. "Well, if I can't have you I guess fish and chips will have to do. In the paper, mind, and plenty of salt and vinegar." He looked up challengingly at Ianto, expecting an argument, but his husband merely chuckled and jumped from the deck onto the towpath.

"I'll be ten minutes. There's beer in the fridge if you want, or if you want to be a proper Yorkshireman, put the kettle on and make a cuppa."

Jack watched as Ianto vanished up the steep flight of steps leading from the towpath up to the hump-backed bridge which crossed the canal and then sat up, sliding off the cabin roof onto the deck. Ducking into the cabin he opened the fridge and chuckled to himself. The tiny fridge was stocked with his favourite beer, a container of semi-skimmed milk and little else. What was Ianto planning on them eating for the next few days?

His fingers hovered over a bottle of beer. After a moments deliberation he closed the door and instead filled the kettle, placing it on the stove to boil. His husband might have given him the illusion of choice but Jack could tell from the look on Ianto's face that a large part of this trip was about Ianto revisiting his past, a past he now wanted to share with him, and however trivial it may seem, drinking mugs of tea whilst eating fish and chips appeared to be an important part of that. Jack had no intention of disappointing him.

With the kettle on the boil, Jack went into the bedroom, pulling his bag from under the bed. Rummaging inside he brought out a small leather box, and flipped open the lid, smiling at the contents. He'd thought hard about what to buy Ianto as an anniversary gift, wanting something special and personal. He just hoped Ianto would like what he had decided to give him as much as he did. He closed the lid, squirrelling the box away back in his bag as, from the kitchen, the shrill whistle of the kettle split the air.

It took a few moments of opening every door in the tiny kitchen to find teabags and a small metal teapot clearly designed to make just two mugs of tea. Jack left the tea to brew and climbed back up on the deck to await Ianto's return.

The canal basin where they were moored was busy with boats, nearly all narrowboats like the Myfanwy, although a couple of modern pleasure cruisers of black and chrome stood out like sore thumbs amongst the gaily painted barges. If he ignored them and the sounds of the traffic above him in the town, Jack could have believed that he was still living in the late 1800s. The last canal he'd travelled on had been the Grand Union Canal; signing on as a bargeman on a cargo barge ferrying coal between Birmingham and London. The job had only lasted a few months, his eagerness to find the Doctor always dragging him back to Cardiff eventually, but he vividly remembered the wide, low barges piled high with black, dusty coal, turning men, water and scenery a smudgy grey. But amongst the cargo barges had been those carrying other, more domestic wares, shining with leaves and flowers painted in broad strokes using every gaudy colour imaginable. The colours and paintings on display here were impossibly refined and tasteful compared to the decorations Jack remembered but they still evoked a sense of times long past, and he found himself comforted that the tradition still existed even in the middle of the 21st century.

"A penny for them?" Ianto said softly, suddenly at his side. "You're miles away."

Jack smiled. "Just reliving a few months of my distant past," he answered. "I take it the fish and chip shop was still there?" his eyes fell on two newspaper wrapped bundles in Ianto's hands.

"I think I even recognised the woman behind the counter," Ianto affirmed with a nod. "Haddock and chips, scraps, salt and vinegar."

"Ianto Harkness-Jones, I could kiss you," Jack exclaimed, seizing the proffered parcel.

"Later." Ianto laughed. "I'd like to get my dinner while it's still warm, thanks." He looked into the dark interior of the cabin. "Is there tea? Or are we going with beer?"

Jack raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Of course there's tea. Did you think I would miss that hint? A twelve foot high neon sign would have been less obvious than the puppy dog eyes you turned on me."

Without waiting for a reply Jack vanished below, appearing a minute later with two mugs of tea, both of which he rested on the cabin roof.

"I had every faith in you," Ianto murmured _sotto__voce_.

Jack would have replied but, intent on unwrapping the newspaper, he contented himself by sticking his tongue out.

* * *

><p>For the next ten minutes all that could be heard was the rustling of newspaper, enthusiastic chewing, slurping of hot tea and the occasional sigh of pure pleasure.<p>

"OK, I'll admit it," Jack said eventually, screwing his newspaper into a ball and throwing it down into the cabin hatchway. "Yorkshire definitely has the right idea about fish and chips and tea. Those tasted much better than the chip shop at home."

"Beef dripping," Ianto mumbled, contentedly chewing his last chip. He swallowed and sighed. "They fry them in beef dripping, terribly unfashionable and unhealthy but..." He let the sentence hang and shrugged, draining the last of his tea.

"Worth the risk," Jack agreed. "But if we keep this up you're going to end up married to a barrage balloon." He patted his washboard flat stomach, his abs clearly defined through the cotton of the black tee, and saw Ianto roll his eyes theatrically. "OK, what now?"

"On to Gargrave, unless you want to look round Skipton and walk off that lunch. There's a good market. We have an hour or so before we have to leave to get to our overnight mooring. It's just the far side of Gargrave and we have a few locks to negotiate."

"Is that mooring more...private...than this one?" Jack asked looking around at the battery of craft surrounding them. "I was hoping for a little more solitude."

Ianto grinned, his expression one of careful innocence. "It's a single mooring, just room for one boat, quite isolated. It's on a private stretch of land."

"And just out of interest, who owns the land?" Jack asked carefully, his expression knowing.

"Well, I couldn't expect you to survive every night in a public mooring. It's far too limiting," Ianto smirked.

Jack stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Do you know, I think I'll skip the sightseeing tour. I can think of far better ways than walking to work off those extra calories. Set course for Gargrave and full steam ahead, wouldn't you say?"

Ianto didn't reply but the smirk was undiminished as he stepped past his husband to fire up the engine once more.

* * *

><p>They had barely left the picturesque houses of Skipton behind when Ianto pulled back on the throttle steering, close to the bank on which the towpath ran. Jack, who had been leaning against the cabin with hungry eyes that never left Ianto's face, blinked in surprise.<p>

"I thought you wanted to push on to the mooring?" he said quizzically. "Why are we stopping?"

"We're not," Ianto said with a laugh. "But you're getting off." He pointed down the canal. Jack turned to see a low bridge crossing the canal, a bridge that was clearly too low for the boat to pass under. "Time to work off some of those fish and chips." He grinned mischievously and waved for Jack to jump onto the bank that was now only centimetres from the side of the boat.

Jack pulled a face akin to a sulky child and launched himself onto the bank. His boots scrabbled for purchase on the damp, slippery grass and his arms cartwheeled frantically for a moment before he steadied himself. Throwing a dirty look over his shoulder at the chuckling Ianto he started to jog towards the bridge but was stopped in his tracks by a shout.

"Wait, you need a key!" A moment later a cylindrical metal bar topped with a thin crossbar thudded onto the towpath by his feet. Jack picked it up and looked at it curiously.

"This is a key?"

"It's a glorified allen key socket," Ianto explained. "It stops vandals messing with the bridges. You'll see a hole. Shove it in and turn until the sprung bolt shoots back. When you've closed the bridge press the sprung bolt back in to lock it." He waited until Jack had nodded that he understood and then added, "And get a shift on, we've got at least two more bridges and four locks before we reach the moorings."

Jack opened his mouth to utter a retort then closed it and ran the hundred metres to the swing bridge. Unlocking the security mechanism he looked dubiously at the pivot arm of the bridge before bracing his arms against the lever and pushing hard. After a moments resistance the bridge began to swing on its pivot, opening like a gate. Jack had just managed to push the bridge fully open before Ianto came sailing through, beaming.

"Thank you, cariad," he said with a cheery wave. "You can close it now. I'll pick you up just up there."

Jack changed his stance and glaring at the departing Ianto's back began to haul at the pivot arm, but the bridge refused to move. He grunted at the exertion loud enough for Ianto to hear even over the throaty throb of the diesel engine and he heard his partner call "Push not pull" over his shoulder. With a curse Jack vaulted the wooden bar and leaned against it, further muttered curses falling from his lips as the swing bridge pivoted back easily into place. Slamming the sprung bolt home, Jack raced after the boat which was now a good two hundred metres away. As he drew level with the rear of the boat he signalled for Ianto to steer the Myfanwy into the edge but Ianto shook his head.

"I can't, the bank's unstable just along here. I'm worried she'll run aground. There's a mooring half a mile up, just after the next bridge, I'll pull in for you there."

Jack scowled. "You planned this!"

Ianto's gaze was all innocence. "I didn't. The bank's deteriorated since I was last here... It has been twenty-odd years. Besides, this way you can work off some of those fish and chips."

"This wasn't the kind of activity I had in mind and you know it!" Jack retorted, trying to maintain the scowl and failing, his face cracking into a lascivious grin. "Don't blame me if I'm too tired to perform this evening!"

Ianto's peal of disbelieving laughter rang across the short stretch of water that separated them. "Jack Harkness, too tired to perform? That'll be the day."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," came Jack's sage reply as he turned his back on the Myfanwy and began to jog easily up the towpath, leaving Ianto and the barge far behind.

Thankfully for Jack the next swing bridge proved to be electrically operated, negating the need for further physical exertion – although in truth he'd rather enjoyed his run along the towpath and would have suggested he run on a bit further if he'd thought Ianto wouldn't use it as an excuse to tease him mercilessly. Ianto steered the boat alongside the promised concrete mooring and Jack hopped aboard. As Ianto aimed the Myfanwy back into the centre of the canal Jack asked casually,

"Can I drive for a bit?"

Ianto's hand tightened protectively around the tiller, a movement that Jack noticed.

"Can I drive your 'precious'?" he repeated, the last word mimicking the whiny hissing voice of Gollum.

Ianto looked momentarily irritated. "Have you piloted a barge before? You did a stint on the canals, didn't you? Did you pilot one then? There's a bit of a knack to it, you know. It's not like one of those boats we used to keep in the Hub."

Jack could hear the poorly masked concern in his voice. His husband was terrified of anything happening to this boat. For an instant he considered lying; after all, he could pilot all manner of alien craft. How hard could steering a boat going four miles-an-hour be? Then he focused on the crease of worry etched into Ianto's brow and sighed.

"No, I haven't actually. I never got around to it. When I did my time on the barges they were horse drawn and I was a leg man." He saw confusion on Ianto's face. "I mean it was my job to be one of the guys who laid on the top of the boat and pushed it through the tunnels using our legs. It was bloody hard work, I can tell you. The rest of the time I looked after the horse."

"It certainly explains where those legs come from," Ianto said lightly, his gaze flickering down to the tight black jeans defining the hard earned muscles beneath. "But you've never steered a barge?" he added, seeking confirmation.

"Nope," Jack admitted ruefully. "But I'd love a go. You know me and boats."

"That's what worries me," Ianto retorted dryly. "Inevitably, they end up at the bottom of the sea within an hour of you stepping aboard."

"That's not true!" Jack spluttered indignantly and then stopped, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Alright, maybe it is. But let's not forget who it was who drowned the SUV."

This time it was Ianto that squeaked indignantly. "It's hardly my fault that the modifications didn't live up to their promises. That was shoddy Torchwood workmanship."

"UNIT actually," Jack interrupted.

"Oh, well, that explains everything." Ianto tossed his head dismissively.

Jack chuckled and then turned the softest, most pleading pair of puppy dog eyes Ianto had ever seen to him. "Please, I'll be careful, I promise."

Ianto couldn't help but smile, but nevertheless shook his head.

"There's a lock coming up just round the next bend, I can't risk it. It's tricky enough when you know what you're doing. But," he added, seeing Jack's crestfallen expression, "as soon as we get free of the locks the other side of Gargrave I promise I'll let you steer to the mooring."

Jack's face brightened. "Promises, promises, Mr Harkness-Jones." Looking upstream at the bend in the river he said, "Locks, I remember lots more pushing and pulling, am I right?"

"Sorry, loads more, and winding crank handles too. A great opportunity to work on those arm muscles."

"I'll have you know, these muscles are perfect." And to demonstrate, Jack adopted a classic bodybuilder's pose, causing his biceps to swell impressively. He caught Ianto's tongue darting out to wet his lips and winked suggestively. "See."

Ianto looked vaguely embarrassed and scratched the back of his head distractedly. "No argument from me, cariad." Jack's eyes softened, but before he could lean in to drop a kiss on his husband's lips the honk of a boat horn stopped him dead.

"There's a boat coming down the lock," Ianto explained, somewhat frustrated that Jack's advance had been interrupted. "The canal's a bit narrow here, they're warning approaching to give them room to exit. The good news is that means we won't need to set the lock or open the gates, we should just be able to drive straight in."

As he spoke, he tooted the horn in reply and throttled back the engine, slowing the boat's speed to almost a drift, leaving just enough power for the Myfanwy to keep its position on the water. Jack had to admit it was quite a skill and one which his lover and husband had managed to keep secret from him for a remarkable number of years; and finding out that Ianto could add yet another string to his rather accomplished bow was, he had to face it, exceedingly intriguing. What other accomplishments did Ianto have up those immaculately suited sleeves?

A moment later a boat appeared around the bend, its paintwork faded, the name 'Lorelei' barely legible. An old man in his eighties was at the tiller while a young man was stood at the prow laughing with three young boys.

"Afternoon," Ianto called in greeting.

"'Ow do," the elderly man replied and the young man waved. The three boys were finding much hilarity in pulling faces at Jack who was encouraging them with some splendid examples of gurning that would have made any Tyke proud. "The locks are set right down from Bank Newton, there's no'on followin' us. It's reet quiet t'day."

"Thank you. That'll save us a lot of time," Ianto said with a grateful smile. "Enjoy the rest of the day."

"Aye, if I can 'ear missen think with all t'chelpin aboard." As he spoke he grinned a toothless smile, betraying his fondness for the chattering youngsters. "'Av a good'un thissen." He raised the first finger of the hand on the tiller, the universal Tyke form of greeting, thanks and farewell, as the Lorelei pulled away from the side of the Myfanwy.

Ianto opened the throttle and steered the barge around the turn. In front of them, a pair of heavy black lock gates were pushed inwards against the side of the canal to reveal a high-sided chamber, the side walls wet and coated with vivid green algae. At the far end of the chamber a second pair of heavy wooden doors, this time closed, rose high above the water, their black painted wood also masked by slimy ropes of clinging algae. Slowing back down to a crawl, Ianto manoeuvred the narrowboat between the gates, keeping the barge close to the left hand wall.

"Jack, can you remember what you're doing?" he asked quickly. A thirty second lesson in lock mechanics wouldn't be an ideal start to their first lock. This time however Jack smiled confidently.

"No problem. Where's the handle?"

Ianto grinned, relieved, and pointed to a locker set in the stairwell leading down into the boat. Jack opened the locker and pulled out a cranking handle. Then tucking the security key in his waistband he climbed over the roof of the boat to the tiny foredeck and from there started to climb up a sturdy metal ladder attached to the wall of the chamber. Two rungs up his foot slid off as it encountered a patch of algae and Ianto drew in a sharp breath.

"Don't you dare fall in, Jack!" he warned. "I have no intention of fishing you out of a lock."

Jack didn't look around but merely took one hand from a rung to indicate his reply in the traditional single-fingered manner. Reaching the top of the ladder he disappeared over the edge, only to reappear by the lock gate immediately behind the Myfanwy, leaning his back against the vast black and white painted wooden beam which formed the pivot arm for the huge wooden gate. His legs strained pushing back and the great gate began to move, going more easily once it had acquired some momentum. As soon as the gate settled into place, Jack fastened the crank handle to the ratchet mechanism and closed the sluice gate set low in the wooden door.

With one gate complete he ran across the narrow bridge which spanned the lock chamber just behind the lock gate and repeated his actions with the second gate, sealing the Myfanwy in the empty chamber. He was just about to head to the upper gates when Ianto's shout stopped him.

"Jack, we need to tie off the boat." Jack looked round to see a coil of rope, thinner than the mooring rope but still impressively heavy, snake up onto the flags that bordered the lock chamber. Jack wound the rope about one of the heavy cast iron mooring posts set into the concrete of the rim.

"I should just open one of the inlet gates, Jack," Ianto called. "It'll take longer to fill but I need to keep the line taut so we don't end up crashing against the opposite wall." Jack nodded, suddenly all business. Negotiating locks was a dangerous occupation; too close to the upper lock gates and the incoming water could swamp and capsize the boat. He remembered news reports of people drowning in the churning waters of a lock, unable to fight the fierce currents created by the incoming deluge of water.

Confident the rope would not work its way free, he jogged up to the top gate on the opposite side to the Myfanwy and began to crank open the sluice gate just above the surface of the water. Water from the canal above began to jet in, the pressure sending a spray of the dirty liquid arcing out three or four metres into the chamber. Ianto worked the tiller and the throttle, keeping the Myfanwy back against the lower lock gates to escape the falling water. As the sluice gate opening increased, the spray of water became a deluge, the sheer volume of water forming a more modest but nevertheless impressively powerful arching waterfall.

Jack felt the sluice gate halt in its uppermost position and, locking it off, he raced back down to the side of the chamber, grabbing the end of the now slack rope and pulling it tight, the loop around the metal bollard taking the strain. Slowly, the Myfanwy began to rise, the slimy green walls of the chamber gradually disappearing beneath a tide of swirling muddy water. Jack grinned as he watched Ianto, his face set in concentration, clearly loving every minute of this gradual ascent. Despite the need for precision and care, Ianto looked more relaxed than Jack had ever seen outside of the haven of their flat. In fact he could honestly say that he had never seen his husband look this relaxed, even in the old days before the 456. It was wonderful to see.

"What are you grinning at?" Ianto's voice was startlingly close and he realised that the deck of the Myfanwy was now just a couple of feet below the top of the chamber.

"How happy you look," Jack said truthfully.

Ianto's eyes softened into a smile. "You do too. You seem to be enjoying yourself. Come on. Admit it."

Jack shrugged nonchalantly, but his grin was evident and gave the answer Ianto had been hoping for. For a full minute they stared at each other in silence as the water settled to stillness around the boat. After a second minute Ianto gave a low cough.

"Er, Jack? Are you going to open the gate?"

Jack blinked and, unlooping the rope and tossing it on the deck, wordlessly returned to the lock gate to close the now submerged sluice gate once more. Then he pushed open the lock gate directly in front of Myfanwy. With consummate skill, Ianto guided the boat through the narrow channel and into the canal. He brought the Myfanwy to rest alongside the towpath, waiting for Jack to close the gate behind them and jump aboard. Before he could pull away from the bank, though, Jack pushed him back against the metal safety rail which ran around the back of the boat and pressed a fierce kiss to his lips, his tongue darting out in an effort to persuade Ianto's mouth to yield to his invasion. Ianto's lips parted at the invitation, his own tongue seeking to meet Jack's, but at the same moment Jack pulled away.

"How far away is this private and isolated mooring?" he asked breathlessly.

"An hour and a half and three locks away," Ianto panted. "We could stop here..." He was shocked to hear the pleading tone in his voice.

One swift glance around at houses less than two hundred yards away told Jack the idea, whilst having undeniable merit, was completely impractical.

"How fast can this thing go?" he said despairingly.

"Six miles an hour, but the speed limit is four."

"Bugger the speed limit," Jack said determinedly. "We're Torchwood and when have we ever done speed limits?"

"Good point," Ianto conceded, gunning the engine and creating a wake that would have quite dismayed the British Waterways Authority if they'd been there to see it.

* * *

><p>To both men's relief the three following locks which blocked their way as the canal snaked around Gargrave were, as the old man had promised, ready for their passage. Each heavy lock gate was manhandled into position at breakneck speed by Jack, the exertion coupled with the surprisingly warm spring day ensuring that the t-shirt Ianto had made a mental note to rip from Jack's back once they reached the private mooring was now damp with sweat, the dark material clinging even tighter to the muscles of his arms and chest. Every glance in Jack's direction sent Ianto's mouth dry with desire, his eyes flaring dark with frustration at the wait. By mutual consent they kept their distance, he at the tiller and Jack on the prow, knowing that their need was too close to the surface to be controlled if they touched. The hour and the three locks passed in silence and it was only once they had left the outskirts of the village behind them and the last house was lost from view that Jack spoke.<p>

"How far?" His voice was hoarse and almost pleading..

"Another quarter of an hour," Ianto called forward, his voice shaky. It was strange, how desperate he was to touch and be touched by Jack at that moment. It was almost panic, the feeling shortening his breaths to shallow airless gasps. It was a feeling he'd only ever associated with hurried, stolen moment of passion when the world was ending and death, at least for him, seemed inevitable. It was what he had felt as the poisoned gas of the 456 had filled his lungs, in what he had believed to be his final moments with the man currently staring intensely over the roof of the cabin at him with piercing blue eyes. A feeling that if he didn't touch Jack soon he would die. He forced what he hoped was an amused smile to his lips. Only fifteen minutes.

"I did promise you could drive," he managed, the words leaving his lips before he considered the consequences of Jack's proximity.

Jack didn't smile. His eyes never left Ianto's face as he said roughly, "Not now."

Ianto swallowed as he nodded mutely, dragging his eyes from Jack's face and back to the expanse of water ahead.

For ten minutes only the throb of the engine broke the curiously oppressive silence. Finally a bend in the canal revealed a mooring fifty yards ahead on the canal bank opposite the towpath. Overhung by trees, the bank had been reinforced with concrete piles driven into the soft earth, topped by slabs of grey Yorkshire stone. Set back from the water's edge a small stone building slightly larger than a garden shed stood, its dark green door secured by a heavy padlock.

Ianto felt a rush of relief, the pressure in his chest easing slightly as he was able to give Jack an affirmative nod at his questioning look and saw a similar relief in Jack's eyes. He eased back on the throttle, guiding the Myfanwy alongside the mooring, whilst Jack carefully negotiated his way down the six-inch wide gunwales which ran the full length of the barge linking the rear deck to the tiny isolated 'well-deck' at the bow of the narrowboat. Ianto held his breath as Jack shuffled along the ledge; one false step and nothing would save Jack from a dunking into the less than fragrant waters of the Leeds and Liverpool Canal. With relief he saw Jack land safely on the prow and killing the engine he leapt onto the bank clutching the coil of mooring rope to eagerly tie off the barge. The nose of the boat abruptly swung out as Ianto pulled tight. There was a startled cry as Jack, balanced on the prow about to spring onto the bank to secure the front of the boat and unprepared for the sudden motion, lost his balance.

At Jack's cry Ianto looked up from the rope in his hands with horror as Jack vanished over the prow into the water.

"Jack!"

The anguished cry had barely left his lips when he heard a racking, sputtering cough from the front of the boat, followed by a string of expletives that would have made any decent sailor blush. Ianto sprinted to the front of the barge, grabbing the coil of rope that Jack had somehow managed to fling onto the bank as he fell and pulled the Myfanwy against the mooring, securing the rope through a mooring ring set into the stone slab. Satisfied that the boat wasn't about to go anywhere, Ianto climbed onto the prow and looked over the opposite side to see an thoroughly wet Jack standing chest deep in water, the mud disturbed by his dunking swirling about him in a multitude of dirty brown shades. His normally spiky hair was plastered flat against his skull, rivulets of water cascading down onto his sodden T-shirt, now more of a murky grey than the alluring black of earlier in the day, and the vivid blue eyes, only moments before dark with passion, were glaring at him, distinctly unamused.

Ianto couldn't help it. He let out a snort of laughter.

"You should you see what you look like, Jack. Drowned rat is not the word."

"Very funny," Jack snapped, wading towards the boat with laborious steps. "I could have drowned! I hate drowning, my throat always feels like I've swallowed broken glass."

Ianto's face sobered; he hated any mention of Jack's deaths.

"I'm sorry." He held his hands out to Jack. "I didn't know it was going to do that. I should have checked you were on the bank before I tied her off. I wasn't thinking."

Jack took Ianto's hands and allowed himself to be hoisted up and over the side, an exercise which took more than a little effort and left the pair of them panting for breath and tangled in a soggy heap on the tiny deck.

"You had other things on your mind," Jack allowed as soon as he had caught his breath. He looked down at his sodden clothes and then at Ianto, now almost as wet as himself.

"We appear to be a bit on the damp side," he said matter-of-factly, his eyes meeting Ianto's in a cheeky grin.

Ianto grimaced as he sat up, feeling the clammy wet material of his jeans clinging to his legs, and then wrinkled his nose.

"I suspect a shower may be in order. This water reeks." Pushing Jack to one side he clambered to his feet, then turned and pulled his husband up after him. "Come on, Harkness," he cajoled, grinning mischievously, "at least you won't have to risk the gunwales again – not that you could get any wetter." Dropping down onto the bank, he left Jack in order to finish tying off the ropes securely, then climbed back on the rear deck of the Myfanwy, disappearing into the bowels of the boat. Jack looked down at the pool of water forming on the deck at his feet and, squelching with every step, went ashore.

Ianto stopped him at the door of the cabin.

"You're not coming in here like that," he said severely eyeing the wet footprints on the red metal deck. "You could sink us, the amount of water you've absorbed."

"Well, what do you suggest?" Jack asked with mock innocence, blue eyes flashing wickedly. "Do you want me to just strip off here?"

"Something like that," Ianto said mischievously brandishing a pair of scissors in front of the older man's face. "I've been wanting to do this all day." In one swift movement he cut through the material at the neck of Jack's t-shirt, smiling when Jack flinched at the contact of the cold metal of the scissors against his skin. Almost immediately the scissors vanished as Ianto threw them back through the cabin door to land somewhere below with a harsh clang, Ianto's warm fingers replacing the cold metal at Jack's throat.

Jack stood absolutely still as Ianto stepped closer, feeling the gradual seeping warmth of Ianto's body through the damp material of his shirt.

"Do you know," Ianto said lazily, fingering the wet material at either side of the cut between finger and thumb. "...how difficult," he continued, pushing his hips into Jack's, "...ripping a t-shirt off someone's back actually is?" he finished, pressing feather-light kisses to the edges of Jack's mouth.

Jack remained silent, smiling against Ianto's lips.

Ianto lifted his head and returned Jack's smile. "It's harder than you would imagine. The material is very resistant to tearing..." As he spoke he grabbed the cotton shirt, one hand at either side of the cut, and violently pulled the two sides apart. There was a loud ripping sound as the t-shirt came apart in his hands, revealing the broad expanse of Jack's chest. Ianto's smile became a grin of anticipation. "...but no problem is insurmountable." He worked the wet fabric down Jack's arms, his fingers fiery brands on the wet skin, casting the ruined garment to the floor without a second glance. Slate blue eyes flared as they rested on the exposed skin, Ianto's breath catching in his throat. The desperate need of ten minutes ago paled against the primitive urge to possess that gripped him now. Frantic hot hands returned to Jack's waist, deftly releasing the button fly and easing, with difficulty, the clinging wet denim down Jack's legs. Ianto knelt at Jack's feet, his eyes lowered, intent on his task and fearing that, if he met Jack's gaze at that moment, nothing would stop him pushing his husband down on the metal deck and succumbing to every urge he felt.

"You're somewhat wet too," Jack commented huskily above him, stepping free of the mound of sodden clothes pooled about his feet.

Ianto gave a low breathless chuckle as he slowly stood up, his eyes finally taking in the spectacle of Jack Harkness-Jones stood on the deck of a barge in nothing more than boxers and socks. And Ianto had to concede it was a magnificent sight, soaking wet white boxers leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. It was impossible to tear his eyes away.

"I'm not dripping," Ianto countered hoarsely, wondering just how long he could keep his self control. "Come inside and get in the shower before you catch your death."

On cue Jack's frame trembled with a shiver but he gave no sign of moving. "You need a shower too," he argued, sniffing the damp air between them. "Eugh! '_Eau __de __canal_'."

Ianto turned his back on Jack, disappearing down the hatchway. A second later a damp t-shirt landed in Jack's hands.

"I thought we might share." Ianto's voice drifted up the steps. "You know, in the interests of saving water?"

With a whoop of pure happiness, Jack charged down the steps to join his husband.

* * *

><p><strong>My marvellous beta, Orion, on reading this chapter commented that there were a couple of words which those outside the limited confines of Yorkshire (even if we are the biggest county in England) might find hard to understand. So for the first time ever I'm adding a glossary.<strong>

**Gurning – a strange English tradition where old men try and pull the most revolting face possible; try an internet search, it's remarkable what old men with no teeth can achieve.**

**Tyke – the name for someone born and bred in Yorkshire.**

**Chelpin – talking... a lot!**

**Gunwales (pronounced gun-uls) – narrow ledge running down each side of a barge; dead easy to fall in from as my husband demonstrated on one memorable occasion.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Who-verse. That honour belongs to RTD (the TW arm at least – Miracle Day, what were you thinking?), Steven Moffat (I am not worthy) and the mighty and glorious BBC. I merely play here occasionally and try to set right the terrible wrongs inflicted on Jack and Ianto...**

**Thanks, as always, to my beta Orion for managing to squeeze this in amongst all the major stuff going on at the moment.**

**I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Mickanella as a reward for reading my TW back catalogue in two days flat and by way of an apology for my tardiness.**

**Thank you to everyone for reading and, as always, feedback is very welcome.**

* * *

><p>Forty-five minutes later as Jack and Ianto lay in a tangle of exhausted limbs on the floor of the wet room, Ianto's head resting heavily on his chest, Jack had to allow that for a bathroom of such limited size the shower was surprisingly accommodating.<p>

He leaned his head back against the smooth stone tile of the shower wall listening to Ianto's breathing gradually steady and slow, inhaling deeply and savouring the smell of the spicy scented shower gel that Ianto had used to wash the foul smelling canal water from Jack's skin, mingled with the even more heady aroma that he recognised as being uniquely Ianto. The younger man's head shifted against Jack's chest, seeking a more comfortable resting place. After a moment he stilled, with the faintest sound of a sigh of contentment. At the sound Jack's arms tightened around him.

Jack grinned, lifting his eyes skywards to the dripping shower head as he offered a silent prayer of thanks that he had been lucky enough to find a partner who not only was an impressive lover, as had just been ably and skilfully demonstrated to him, but also had the foresight to install the biggest water tank the Myfanwy could hold without sinking. Even if it was now as dry as a bone.

"We really should move." Ianto's voice was sleepy and muffled against Jack's chest. "You can't be comfortable."

"I'm fine," Jack said reassuringly, trying to ignore the slow but inexorable cold chill permeating into his back from the tiles. He arched slightly, hoping to find a spot still warm from the water and failing.

"Liar," chuckled his husband, raising his head to look up at Jack in amusement. "I don't mind if you want to move somewhere a little more comfortable." As he spoke he pulled his legs out from where they were trapped beneath Jack's and sat up with a groan. "I should have gone for a more comfortable finish. Rubber maybe..."

Jack gave a choking cough. "You, me and a rubber room...every shrink's field day." He pulled his knees up to his chest, acutely aware of the loss of Ianto's warm weight, and shivered.

Ianto climbed slowly to his feet, glad that his legs still had the strength to support him, and turned to offer Jack his hand.

"Look, you go get into bed. I'll find something to warm us up a little." Jack grasped the offered fingers and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Following Ianto out into the bedroom he practically dived underneath the duvet as Ianto, offering up a magnificent display of smooth skin and exceptional arse disappeared into the living area only to reappear moments later clutching a bottle of single malt and a single plain glass tumbler.

"I'll light the stove later, but this'll do for now," he said, slipping into bed alongside Jack and leaning back against the headboard. Handing the glass to the older man he opened the bottle and poured a generous measure into the glass before securing the top and putting it down beside the bed. Without taking the glass from Jack's hand he raised it to his lips and took a mouthful. Then he turned to meet Jack's lips, his own lips pressed together in a small seductive smile.

Jack's tongue darted out to lick Ianto's lips, savouring the peaty smokiness of the spirit which coated them. As his lips met Ianto's he could feel Ianto's lips pressuring his, demanding entrance into his mouth. He complied, opening his mouth wide. Ianto's lips parted in response and there was the unexpected eruption of warm, fiery liquid washing into his mouth, a trickle escaping down between them in a warm stream. Jack's tongue joined Ianto's in heady battle, the warm liquor exciting his taste buds and burning his throat as it swept back and forth between them. His free hand caught round the base of Ianto's neck, dragging his head forward, fusing their mouths, giving no chance of release. As the last of the whiskey seared his throat he swirled the tip of his tongue around the roof of Ianto's mouth, stealing the last smoky drops from his lover and returning them to his own mouth. In response Ianto dragged his lips down across the barely perceptible stubble on Jack's chin, tasting the sticky trail of escaped spirit. Reaching the end of the trail Ianto's lips dropped still lower onto Jack's neck and chest, seeking out any drips which had eluded him.

With a growl and grin of pure possessiveness Jack reared up, pushing Ianto flat onto his back and swiftly straddling him, one knee either side of his husband's waist. Then with slow deliberation he allowed a tiny trickle of whiskey to fall from the glass onto Ianto's chest, lowering his head to lap the liquid which pooled in the hollow at the base of Ianto's neck. His tongue darted out, teasing Ianto's flesh with the lightest of touches. The younger man swallowed convulsively, sending a tiny rivulet of liquid cascading over his collarbone. Jack's tongue followed, laving the warm spirit from his skin, growls of appreciation rumbling from low in this throat. Ianto answering moan was barely a whimper, his lungs suddenly devoid of breath. With the spill cleaned away, Jack's mouth returned to the hollow at Ianto's throat, his tongue now swirling in spirals across the damp skin. This time the Welshman's entire body convulsed, almost frantically rearing up to meet Jack's own flushed flesh. Jack used his weight to push Ianto back against the bed, his hips grinding down, searching for and finding the friction they both sought. He heard Ianto's sharp intake of breath at the contact, released in a long slow exclamation of his name, a desperate plea for more. Nipping the skin at Ianto's throat between his teeth, Jack allowed one hand to trail down Ianto's heated skin, his fingernails raking a path that would be clearly visible in the morning. Above him he could hear Ianto's breath coming in gasps, his name and a plea for more repeated over and over in a litany of need. With each utterance he felt his own need to possess the man below him grow.

His fingers settled at Ianto's waist, trailing teasing circles that, for Ianto, remained a few frustrating centimetres from where he needed them to be.

"For fuck's sake, cariad," he swore between clenched teeth, even to his own ears sounding more like the begging it was.

Jack raised his head, shuffling back to sit upright and pin Ianto's thighs to the mattress. Smiling innocently down at Ianto's writhing body his fingers began to drum out a tantalising tattoo on Ianto's belly. Ianto moaned again, his stomach tautening with each beat of Jack's fingers. Jack's smile grew devilish, his eyes flaring at the sound. His fingers stilled, millimetres above the flushed expanse of skin drinking in the sight of his husband's eyes raised pleadingly to his, their slate blue dark with barely suppressed desire, tinged now with loss of the rhythmic beat of Jack's fingers against his flesh. Jack could see he was so close now. A few more beats, a single caress, and the young man beneath him would fall spiralling over the edge, shouting his name to the darkening sky. He lifted his hand higher, watched as the loss in Ianto's eyes turned to dismay, only to be replaced by curiosity as Jack leant over sideways, his hand disappearing over the side of the bed.

He brought his hand back up, the quarter-full whiskey glass clasped by the rim between thumb and forefinger. Transferring it to his other hand he stared at the contents contemplatively and then gently rested the glass on Ianto's stomach in the space his fingers had vacated. The taut muscles bucked at the sudden cold of the glass, sending amber liquid sloshing up the sides, a single drop spilling over the edge to slowly glide down the polished surface until it finally came to rest against the trembling skin at the base. Jack watched its progress, as did the man beneath him. Ianto breathed heavily, trying to focus on the progress of the single drop of liquid as though that would stop him shattering like the glass in front of him would surely do if it fell as far as he knew he was about to fall. As the drop of whiskey seared his stomach he transferred his gaze back to Jack, reading Jack's intentions in the flashing azure eyes.

"Water of life," Jack said softly, not taking his eyes from Ianto's. "Very appropriate." He lifted the glass from Ianto's stomach to his lips, noting his husband's muscles, starkly defined beneath the smooth pale skin, grow even tauter. Ianto's eyes were begging now, flaring with a need that was familiar and yet somehow new, telling Jack that he couldn't hold on much longer and that he wanted Jack with him when he fell, holding him, surrounding him, catching him as he came crashing down.

"It seems a shame to waste this," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "We'll share it." He raised the glass in a silent toast and then lifting it to his lips, letting the warm peaty liquid fill his mouth. Lowering his head he finally gave Ianto the answer to his plea, sending the young man spiralling into the abyss in a mere matter of moments, the glorious sounds of Ianto's descent ringing in his ears as barely seconds later he followed him down.

* * *

><p>Outside, the last of the April afternoon sun had faded, trailing a pale rosy glow over the hills to the West that promised a cold night and a fine day on the morrow. Ianto looked up through the round porthole set into the wall above the bed at the indigo sky which was just beginning to light up with the pale pinpricks of stars and sighed.<p>

"I suppose we should get up and light the stove. Another half hour and it'll be freezing out there." Suddenly aware of the cold air of the cabin, he pulled the quilt up over one bare shoulder. "And I suppose we better eat something sometime."

Jack grunted, begrudgingly pulling his head out of the warm cocoon created by the quilt and the wall of Ianto's chest, and wrinkled his nose at the cold air.

"Eat what? All I saw in that tiny fridge was beer. I suppose there might be a tin of beans somewhere, or were you planning for us to eat out? We passed a pub by that last lock."

Ianto tutted affrontedly. "What kind of man do you take me for, Jack?" He rolled backward until he could look Jack in the eye and put on his best hurt expression. "Firstly, after being married to you for a year, do you honestly think I would not have enough food to feed an army squirrelled away? Secondly, given this is our anniversary and that I went to all the trouble of buying us a boat and an isolated mooring so that we could enjoy it together without interruption, how could you be such a 'twpsyn' to think I would waste one minute of it in a public house surrounded by a load of strangers?"

Jack tried to look suitably chastened at Ianto's retort but it was difficult when all he could really focus on were Ianto's eyes flashing blue flames of indignation. Instead he tried for a winning smile as he queried "Twpsyn?" in an abysmal approximation of Ianto's pronunciation.

Ianto returned his smile with an exasperated shake of his head. "Idiot, cariad," he explained gently. "I said you were an idiot if you though I had any intention of letting you off this boat this evening. In fact I'm having second thoughts about even letting you out of this bed." He leant down, intending to kiss the smug expression of satiation from Jack's lips, but was stopped by a telling and very audible growl from Jack's midriff and pulled back with the laugh.

"All right, I'll feed you first. Your stomach can be very distracting."

"I can't help it," Jack said defensively. "I'm a man with needs, it just so happens right now it's a need for food."

Ianto pushed back the quilt and climbed out into the cool air. Jack watched as Ianto searched in the holdall on the floor at the side of the bed for a jumper and a dry pair of jeans, entranced at the sight of his husband's pale naked skin, almost wraith-like in the half-light of the cabin. It was breathtaking. In this light all the scars, the little imperfections amassed over years of Torchwood service, were reduced to the merest hints of shadows. The toned limbs and torso appeared to be hewn from marble, an echo of ancient gods. It was a sight Jack wanted never to forget, a vision he wished etched on his soul for eternity.

"Do you know how much I love you?" The words tumbled from Jack's lips without conscious thought.

Ianto stood upright, a dark jumper in one hand, and turned to Jack, his breezy reply dying unspoken as he saw Jack's eyes, as indigo as the evening sky above the Myfanwy. Dropping the jumper on the bed he slid back under the quilt beside Jack, lowering his head until his eyes were mere centimetres above Jack's.

"I know," he said steadily. "About as much as I love you. What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Well, nothing really." Jack's face twisted into a half smile with sudden uncertainty. He pulled sharply away, leaning over Ianto to reach below the bed, pulling the leather box from his bag. Leaning back against the pillows Jack pushed the box into Ianto's hand. For better or worse Ianto was about to learn yet another of his secrets. It had seemed such an innocent secret, despite how precious the box's contents were to him, but now he found himself suddenly terrified that his husband might not understand.

"Here," he said abruptly, his expression suddenly closed and inscrutable.

Ianto's brow crinkled in concern. "What's the matter, cariad?" His hand closed about the box and he held it up. "What is this?"

Jack ran a hand back through his hair abstractedly. "It's an anniversary present. I thought...I was sure..." He faltered into silence.

"Jack?" Ianto pushed, his concern turning to genuine worry. It had been a long time since he'd seen Jack this shaken and unsure of himself, not since he'd confessed the truth about the implications of his resurrection.

"You might not like what you find inside," Jack said slowly. "You'd better open it." He pulled away, moving back to his own side of the bed to warily observe Ianto's expression.

The abrupt loss of Jack's warmth brought a frown to Ianto's face and he shivered slightly. Leaning back against the pillow, still warm from where Jack had laid on it, he flipped open the lid of the leather box. Inside was a silver case, intricately engraved and obviously an antique. It reminded Ianto of a cigarette case but its dimensions were wrong, measuring maybe four inches wide by six inches long and as thick as his thumb. On one long edge was a small plain clasp holding the two sides, hinged on the opposite side, closed. The case, whilst decorative, was clearly masculine.

"It's beautiful," Ianto said slowly, looking questioningly at Jack, whose face was still drawn and pensive.

"Open it," he said quietly and swallowed as if just saying those two words had been a hurdle.

Lifting the case from the leather box, Ianto turned it over in his hands a couple of times, scrutinising the fine decoration. From the corner of his eye he saw an impatient movement from Jack who clearly was desperate and yet dreading him looking at the contents. Swiftly he released the clasp, opening the case like a hard-backed book, somewhat startled as a sheaf of small, photograph-sized cards cascaded into his lap. Looking down, his face stilled as he saw what was on the top card. His own face was staring back at him, wearing a knowing smile, eyes alight with mischief. A moment of contentment captured forever. But not in a photograph. This snapshot of time had been rendered in broad flowing sweeps of dark grey pencil, each strand of his rakishly spiked hair drawn in carefully and deliberately, the fullness of his lips defined by careful shading of light and dark.

Open-mouthed, Ianto lifted the image up to study it in more detail, silently cursing the fading light. The artist had captured him exactly, not just the reality of his face but somehow his soul as well. In those eyes he could see every feeling he had for Jack shining out as clearly as though they were written in words on the page.

He turned to look at Jack, his eyes full of wonderment. "Did you draw this?"

"Look at the others."

Ianto placed the drawing of himself back into the silver case and picked up the next card from his lap. This time it was Sîan's picture that stared back at him, Jack's beautiful daughter sporting a cap and gown on the day of her graduation; another card, Sîan again, this time as a little girl with a cheeky grin missing a tooth; Donna, hair twisted up in a knot fastened with a pencil in deep contemplation; another one of him, but a younger him that screamed insecurity through scared eyes.

He looked back to Jack. "Keep going," Jack said quietly. "You need to see them all."

More cards, this time yellowing with age. A young boy, face alive with curiosity. Steven. Jack's daughter Alice in her twenties, in her teens. A young woman Ianto recognised from Torchwood files as Lucia holding a baby. And still there were more, people that Ianto no longer recognised. Young men in army uniform from the First World War, young women with hairstyles that spoke of the turn of the 20th century and before. A woman in her thirties whose eyes held the same love and wonderment that he'd seen in the first card of himself. The same woman again sat with a young boy little more than a toddler on her knee, playing pat-a-cake. The next three cards were different again. Clearly the oldest, their edges frayed with time, the people portrayed were not of this time or even of Earth. These pictures, of a man, a woman and a boy were the least accomplished, as though the hand that drew them did not have the skill to give their ideas form, but showed numerous additions and amendments as the artist had returned time and time again to try and realise his vision. In the young boy, Ianto recognised the man.

"This is Gray," he said slowly. "This is your family."

"These are the people I've loved." Jack's mouth twisted in a pained smile. "The people whose faces I never want to forget."

"So you draw them," Ianto breathed, "because drawing them commits them to memory in a way a photograph doesn't."

Jack threw him a grateful look. "I should have known you would understand. I was so scared you wouldn't. That you might resent the people these pictures represent."

"I'm honoured to be included, cariad," Ianto said gravely, his eyes holding Jack's steadily. In truth he was surprised, not that he'd been included, he had no doubts as to the strength of Jack's feelings for him, but that for a man who had lived so long and had, by his own admission, shagged his way round the galaxy, there were so few people he had cared enough for to include in his precious cache of memories.

Jack's relieved expression gave way to surprise. He plucked one of drawings from Ianto's lap, the one of him looking young and scared. "Do you know when I drew this?" he said roughly, his voice almost harsh, "The night after we caught Myfanwy in the warehouse. We'd met... what? Three times? And already your face was burnt into my memory as strongly as anyone I'd ever loved. I didn't understand why you were so important then. That took about another week."

"Liar," Ianto said, softly mocking, though his eyes filled with wonderment.

Jack shook his head fiercely and pulled out another card from the pile, one Ianto had not looked at before. This one was a profile of him, head down, the roughly sketched background clearly depicting the archives. But whilst the background was hurriedly drawn his own face and body had been drawn meticulously, every detail picked out with stunning accuracy. The person who had placed these lines with such precision had clearly studied his subject at great length. Every stroke of the pencil screamed love.

"I..." Ianto couldn't find a single word. Instead he turned his head to kiss Jack deeply, letting all his thoughts and emotions flow between them.

Jack's hand lifted the case and cards from Ianto's lap and balanced them carefully on the holdall jutting out from underneath the bed before pulling the young man into a fierce embrace, and for a little while at least all thoughts of anything except each other were forgotten.

* * *

><p>An hour later, fed, watered, and utterly sated, Ianto lay back against his husband's shoulder, the case and its contents once more laid out on his lap. The cold April night had been banished by the power of heavy curtains obscuring the porthole windows, a warming blaze in the little wood burning stove, and muted lights set into the walls and ceiling of the bedroom, lights which also meant Ianto could properly study the works of art Jack had created.<p>

"How did these survive the explosion in the Hub," Ianto asked, turning the metal case over in his hands. "This doesn't even look scratched."

"I never kept it there," Jack replied. "They were never part of Torchwood, they're part of me. I kept the case in a safety deposit box, in Mary's name.

"Mary?" Ianto questioned.

Jack smiled fondly. "My first wife. She was quite a woman. I think you would have liked her. Gwen reminds me of her in a lot of ways." He paused as he watched a shadow flit across Ianto's profile, clarifying quickly, "I just mean she had that same balls-on, bit-between-the-teeth, never-let-things-drop attitude that Gwen has. Boy, did we row!"

"Did she know? About who you are?" Ianto asked, curiosity driving away any trace of the momentary jealousy he'd felt at the mention of Gwen.

"That I was immortal? Yeah. But not that I was from the future...or from another planet." He fell silent and Ianto waited for him to continue. After a moment it became clear to Ianto that Jack didn't intend to say anything else on the subject. Almost as the thought took form Jack said wryly,

"There is more, Yan, and I will tell you. Just...not today. Can we save that for another trip?"

Ianto nodded, twisting his head so his eyes could meet Jack's in understanding. It didn't matter that Jack wasn't ready to share his memories of Mary yet. He would one day, Ianto had no doubt. His eyes fell back to the case and its precious horde of memories.

"Was this her idea?"

Jack shook his head. "No. I'd drawn the ones of my parents and Gray not long after I arrived back on Earth from the Gamestation. My memories of them were cloudy, no doubt thanks to the Time Agency screwing with my mind, so I drew what I could remember. My memories of them as anything other than those pictures are gone now." For a moment, his face was desolate, then, almost as if he recollected himself, Ianto saw him force a smile to his lips. "I drew the first one of Mary not long after we were married." He pointed at the picture still lying uppermost in Ianto's lap of the woman in her thirties. "When our son was born she gave me the case to keep it and the others I drew of her and him in. I think she knew why I drew them but she never commented on them."

"What did Lucia say when she saw these?" Ianto wondered out loud. From what he had read in the Torchwood personnel archive Lucia had never struck him as the most compassionate of people. He couldn't imagine her embracing an ex-wife, even one long dead.

"She never saw them. Apart from Mary you are the only person who's ever seen them," Jack said quietly. "These are my secret, the part of me Torchwood was never able to own."

"They are wonderful, Jack. But like you said they are part of you, I can't take them from you. They're too precious," Ianto said solemnly, gathering the cards together to return them to the case.

Jack laid a hand over his, stilling his movements. "Yan, they are the only thing I have that's really mine to give. That's why I want you to have them. They're from me. Really from me."

Ianto nodded slowly and, one hand cradling the cards, he clasped Jack's hand tightly, raising it to his lips.

"Thank you, cariad. I'll look after them for you, keep them safe until it's time for you to take them back." He watched Jack's eyes flair with pain at the thought of their inevitable parting some day, but lowered his head to kiss him until the pain vanished behind something more immediate and heated.

"So why a boat?" Jack asked, settling back against the pillows, luxuriating in the feel of Ianto's hair tickling his chest and the soft silhouette of his husband's head and shoulders against the soft glow cast by the wood-burning stove in the living area, now the only light. Despite the late hour, or more accurately early hour, he had never felt less like sleeping. This night, the two of them alone, uninterrupted by any of life's usual distractions, was something precious he didn't want to end. "More specifically why a canal barge?" he continued curiously. "From our previous seafaring encounters I would have described you more as a speedboat kind of guy – all that showing off and outrageous flirting in front of sailors."

Ianto replied with a throaty chuckle. "To be fair, Jack, that was more about showing off in front of you. Generic sailors are not really my type. If you could have seen your face though, your expression was about sixty percent jealousy, thirty percent incredulousness and ten percent grudging admiration."

"Make that ninety, ten and ten and you'd be nearer the mark," Jack growled, his arm tightening around Ianto's chest.

"You realise that comes to more than a hundred," the younger man pointed out in amusement, enjoying Jack's sudden demonstration of possessiveness.

"There's some overlap," Jack countered dismissively. "You still haven't answered my question, Yan. From your dreamy eyed expression every time you look at this boat I'm guessing this is a part of your past."

"My childhood," Ianto confirmed. "The best bit of it...one of the only few good bits of it really." His voice was matter of fact, but Jack could hear an underlying tremor of distress, and he cradled Ianto still closer.

"You've never really talked about your past," Jack said softly. "I mean, I know the facts and important events and dates, they were in your files..."

"I bet that made fascinating reading," Ianto said, his tone scathing and bitter. "Sorry. That was just..." He trailed off and gave a tiny shrug. "Sorry," he repeated.

"Tell me," Jack said gently. "As much or as little as you want. Tonight seems to be the night for letting our guard down a little."

Ianto twisted his head so that he could look up into Jack's face, the piercing blue eyes fixing his with warm encouragement. He knew Jack wouldn't push him, the immortal had far too many secrets in his own past that he wasn't ready to share to ever force him to lay his past out for comment. It was a past he'd gone to great lengths to try and put behind him, deflecting questions with practised skill, even keeping Rhiannon at arm's length for a while, inflicting hurt on both of them. Curiously it had been Lisa's death which had finally brought about the end of the estrangement as, shattered with loss and his betrayal of Jack and the others, he had found himself knocking on her door. It was the one good thing that had come from Lisa's death, mending his rift with what was left of his family. A family that for the last year had included Jack, and if he was honest with himself, for twenty-four years before that. His husband deserved to know, he'd earned the right.

"My tad wasn't an easy man to live with," he said finally, turning his head away from Jack and instead directing his gaze to the dark heavy curtains. "He had high expectations of me and...well, let's just say I was found wanting. I wasn't Alwyn, you see."

"Alwyn?" Jack's question was puzzled.

"Alwyn wasn't in the files?" Ianto asked with genuine surprise. "Not as thorough as I thought then. Alwyn was my older brother. He died before I was born and Rhiannon was only a few months old. It was meningitis, one day he was fine, the next day he was dead of septicaemia. There wasn't all the publicity about what to watch out for back then. Mam didn't spot the signs. Neither did tad but he blamed her anyway. He never really spoke to her again after Alwyn died, not properly. I don't think he ever really forgave her, or me for not being another Alwyn. The only thing I can ever remember us doing where I wasn't compared to Alwyn was going to the pictures." Jack nodded, remembering that Ianto had told him about he and his tad visiting the old picture house before.

"Anyway," Ianto continued evenly, "as time went on he seemed to get angrier and angrier. Not just with me, with everyone. He never hit me, it wasn't that kind of anger, he used words instead." He fell abruptly silent. In the semi-darkness Jack waited, making sure that he didn't relax his hold on his husband for an instant. Beneath his arms he could feel Ianto trembling, fighting the unhappy memories.

"I think I would have preferred a beating," Ianto said suddenly, his voice loud in the confines of the small bedroom. "At least that way when the violence stops it's finished with. The things he used to say lodged under your skin, stabbing you every time you dropped your guard. Mam used to try and stop him but how do you stop words, they're insidious. Once they're said you can't take them back, not really. But at least she tried. If it wasn't for mam and Rhi I think I'd have left."

"Yan, I didn't know it was that bad," Jack said in halting dismay. The pain in Ianto's voice as he confessed the history of his childhood was like a knife to his own gut. "I'm sorry I dragged all this up. You don't need to go on."

"No, it's about time I said this out loud," Ianto replied with a humourless smile Jack couldn't see but knew instinctively was there. "I'm sick of trying to honour the memory of a man who's been dead for thirty years. You know, Jack, in the first eighteen years of my life I have two fond memories of my father. One was going to the pictures and the second was going on a bloody barge holiday. Two! Out of eighteen years! How pathetic is that?"

"Yan, don't," Jack pleaded. "You've just said he isn't worth it. He's gone. He can't hurt you any more."

"Don't be so naïve, Jack," Ianto spat bitterly, pulling roughly out of Jack's arms and sitting up. "You know better than anyone how the dead can keep ripping you to shreds, time after time. The only difference between what they did alive and what they do now is that now you can't fight back." With the final word the Welshman seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping.

"God, Jack, I'm sorry," he said tiredly avoiding Jack's eyes. "Some anniversary this is turning out to be. I didn't mean..."

"I know," Jack said soothingly, taking Ianto's chin between his fingers and forcing the young man's gaze up until he could see the pain radiating from their slate blue depths. "I was an idiot. You were right in what you said, but I just hate to see you hurting, knowing that I can't do anything to stop it." He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Ianto's lips before pulling his husband into a tight hug.

For a moment the younger man was rigid in Jack's arms, then he relaxed against the older man's shoulder, burying his face in the smooth skin of Jack's neck with a muffled choked sob.

They remained there in silence for several minutes as shudders of grief and anger wracked Ianto's frame. Finally they died away and Ianto lifted his head slowly to look at Jack. Without speaking Jack slid down back onto the bed, pulling Ianto with him, pulling the duvet back over them with one hand until they were cocooned under the white cotton, Ianto's head resting upon Jack's chest once more, Jack's arm wrapped snugly about Ianto's waist.

"Go to sleep," Jack said gently. With his free hand he brushed the hair from Ianto's forehead and then caressed one cheek, almost as though he were a child. "You can tell me the rest in the morning."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Who-verse. That honour belongs to RTD (the TW arm at least – Miracle Day, what were you thinking?), Steven Moffat (I am not worthy) and the mighty and glorious BBC. I merely play here occasionally and try to set right the terrible wrongs inflicted on Jack and Ianto...**

**Special thanks to my beta Orion for knowing exactly which words I wasn't happy with and changing them to some that were just perfect.**

**Originally this was supposed to be the last chapter. There are things for the boys still to do - Jack taking a turn at driving for one – but curiously they refused to be drawn from the privacy of the cabin for a full 5900 words. Naturally this meant I had to give them an extra chapter, and you another episode of pure, unadulterated (but rather adult) fluff. Enjoy!**

**Thank you to everyone for reading and, as always, feedback is very welcome.**

* * *

><p>The sun was high in a cloudless azure sky before Ianto opened his eyes. The heavy curtain had been pulled back, allowing a blinding beam of sunlight to stream down through the porthole, forming a perfect circle on the pristine white cotton of the duvet cover. To his left, the sheets were cold, telling him that Jack had been up and about for some time. From beyond the doorway into the main cabin he could hear the jaunty whistling of a sea shanty and the delicious bitter scent of coffee was carried in on the warm air from the lit stove.<p>

He yawned lazily, stretching his arms above his head as he worked the kinks out of his neck with a couple of half-hearted neck rolls. At the sound of his movement Jack stuck his head round the door, beaming and displaying practically ever one of his obscenely white teeth.

"Finally, you're awake. I thought you were going to sleep all day. Do you want coffee?"

Ianto gave him a speaking look, bemoaning his husband's clear lack of intelligence, and ignoring the question enquired, "What time is it?"

"A little before noon. I think this officially counts as a lie in. When was the last time you got one of those?"

"A lie in where I was actually permitted to sleep?" Ianto raised his eyebrows accusingly. "Not in recent memory, which puts it somewhere circa 2009." He grinned. "I'd forgotten how great they are. I'll get up."

Jack stepped round the door frame to reveal an expanse of tanned flesh unencumbered by clothing of any kind.

"Don't bother," he said, the grin turning rapidly into a leer. "I'm not planning on staying out here." Vanishing back into the main cabin he reappeared moments later, a mug in each hand, and passed one to Ianto who by this time had scooted back to his side of the bed (according to Jack he was prone to night-time drifting, not that his husband had any complaints at waking up to find himself pinned down by one of the Welshman's wandering legs) and was propped up against the pillows.

He raised the mug to his lips, savouring the rich aroma, and took a long appreciative sip. He was half way though a sigh of pure contentment when he had a thought and his eyes raised to Jack, still leaning against the door frame and watching him with an amused expression.

"Jack," he began slowly, dropping his eyes to his mug and then back to his husband's completely naked body. "Last night's shower used up all the water in the tanks. Where did you find the water to make the coffee?" A horrible suspicion was beginning to form and Jack's unconcerned shrug only served to confirm his fears. He groaned. "You didn't! Not like that!"

"What?" Jack retorted defensively. "I figured there would be a tap or water tank in the shed..." He gestured over his shoulder in the general direction of the small stone building on shore. "And there was. Yan, it must have cost a fortune to get electric and water plumbed in this far out of the village. I like the massive fridge and freezer. No repeat of last night's cheese on toast for us today!" he crowed. "Besides, it's a lovely day. Very warm considering..."

"Stop changing the subject, Jack," Ianto countered, his expression incredulous. "And not that warm, by the looks of it?" he observed sweetly, with an assessing sweep of his gaze from Jack's face to the floor and back again. He ignored Jack's indignant splutter and continued, "Did anyone happen to catch you in all your glory?"

Jack's expression suddenly turned sheepish and he scratched his cheek in a self-conscious gesture which Ianto might have interpreted as embarrassment if it had been from anyone other than Jack Harkness.

"There was this couple, Graham and Sandra, lovely people, from Doncaster..."

"Jack!"

"Well, let's just say I've never been so glad that I was clutching a water carrier. Although...I think I made Sandra's morning. She did say it was lovely to see someone _up_ so bright and early on such a fabulous morning."

Ianto, who had unwisely chosen that moment to take another sip of coffee, coughed abruptly, sending a spray of brown liquid across the duvet, marring its snowy white perfection. "Please don't tell me..." he choked out, his face almost scarlet.

Jack's smile was broad. "I was thinking about last night...all that lovely whiskey...what can I say..."

Ianto shook his head in despair. "We'll be infamous amongst the Yorkshire boating community at this rate."

Jack slipped into the bed alongside Ianto, settling himself comfortably against the cushions before downing the contents of his mug in a single swallow.

"Which is not necessarily a bad thing," he pointed out, gesturing for Ianto to do the same, "if it means we get plenty of privacy." He relieved the Welshman of his mug before Ianto had even had chance to lower it from his lips and placed them both on the floor beside the bed. "Now, where were we?"

"I _was_ having a lie in," Ianto replied in a mock grumble as Jack lowered his full lips to his, but his arm snaked about Jack's shoulders, locking him in a tight embrace.

Jack's lips were only on his for a moment, bearing down with only the merest hint of pressure before releasing them that Ianto wasn't entirely sure that they had ever been there. Before he had time to consider, Jack's tongue darted out, the tip tracing around the outline of his mouth until Ianto's lips parted, hoping that Jack would seek entrance there. He did, but not with his tongue. Instead one long finger slipped into the dark recess, pushing its way past the barrier of teeth to the warm, wet darkness behind. Ianto laved the digit with his waiting tongue, circling in broad strokes, teasing with light dancing sweeps and then closing his lips around the base of the finger. Ianto watched in fascination as Jack's eyes darkened to liquid jet only centimetres above his own, the black orbs filling his whole vision. He sucked hard, running his tongue once more about the fingertip, delighted as Jack's breath escaped in a rush against his cheek. Releasing Jack from the embrace he instead brought his fingers round to his chest, tracing intricate designs on the smooth skin with his fingertips. Each time his fingers brushed a nipple, he bit down on Jack's finger for an instant before laving the hurt away once more. With each caress Jack's breathing became more uneven, the arm supporting him more unstable. He wobbled. Grabbing the advantage, Ianto pushed up and without releasing his hold on the finger in his mouth twisted Jack beneath him so that he was straddling his husband's legs and leaning low across him, his flushed skin close but not touching that of his lover. His hands continued their dance across the muscles of Jack's chest and abdomen, returning time and time again to the puckered nipples which stood erect, begging for his touch. Jack's breathing was ragged, almost as though he didn't have sufficient air to form the moan he was so desperately trying to release. His mouth aching to be touched, he tried to raise his head to find a centimetre of Ianto's skin that he could caress, but the Welshman pulled out of reach, allowing only Jack's finger to remain. Lifting his hands from Jack's chest, he now ran them down to Jack's thighs, letting them skim across his hipbone teasingly. For a moment they rested there, unmoving on the satin soft skin, the only movement the sweeping laving circles of his tongue on the trapped finger.

Jack gulped much needed air into his lungs, his lips rounding to form a plea. At that instant Ianto pulled back, releasing Jack's finger, his mouth dropping to Jack's chest, his tongue and teeth now worrying and laving the swollen nipples in turn.

Jack's plea turned to a gasp. Ianto ground his hips forwards, his fingers mirroring the thrust, suddenly penetrating. The gasp dissolved into an inarticulate cry and finally an echoing explosion of his name as Ianto brought his head down to meet his hands, his tongue and teeth finishing the job his fingers had begun.

* * *

><p>"Do you want to tell me the rest?" Jack asked carefully, his head seeking the comfortable pillow of Ianto's shoulder. He didn't look up to meet the young Welshman's eyes, knowing it would be easier for Ianto to speak when he was not being observed, even if those eyes were filled with understanding and love.<p>

"Not really," Ianto said honestly, his tone taking on the slight edge of sharpness it always did when he was discussing a subject he wasn't comfortable with. "But I should. It's only fair."

"Fair doesn't enter into it," Jack replied gently. "God knows there is still so much you don't know about me, I wouldn't blame you if there was part of your past you wanted to keep to yourself. All I mean is that ever since I met you, it's like you were always trying to prove something. From what you said about your dad last night I can see how you would want to prove to him that you were as good as Al..."

"NO!" Ianto's explosive denial stopped him dead, as the young man pulled abruptly away, retreating to the wall where he observed Jack's shocked face with wild angry eyes. "It was never about him! I honoured his memory - isn't that what good sons are supposed to do for their fathers? – but I couldn't give a fuck about proving myself to him. Whatever I did would never have been enough. I wanted to prove to her that it was worth it! That I was worth all the shit tad dealt out! It was my fault, you see, not hers. Not hers." The last words were repeated on a whisper and with them all the fire and anger drained from Ianto's eyes, leaving a hollow emptiness behind that shook Jack to the core. Instinctively he put out his hands, wanting to pull his lover back into his embrace, but Ianto flinched away, pressing even farther back into the wall.

Jack swallowed hard, pushing back the sudden lance of pain at Ianto's rejection. "Cariad," he said steadily, for once using Ianto's own endearment, "It wasn't your fault. How could it have been? You weren't even born when Alwyn died."

Ianto's face might have been carved from granite. "No, but Mam was pregnant with me. Ten weeks, and she was so poorly. Morning sickness that lasted all day. She was so busy throwing up because of me that she didn't realise Alwyn was sick until it was too late. So you see, Jack, it was my fault. Without the morning sickness she would have noticed sooner, Alwyn might still be alive. Tad knew that. He couldn't blame me directly, like you said I wasn't born, so he blamed her instead."

"He made her life hell," he continued simply, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the duvet. "He made her life hell, and that was my fault. I couldn't do a lot about it at first, and by the time I was old enough to fight back it was too late for her. After she died I knew the only way I could make it up to her was to prove that my life had been worth the hell. Do you think I've managed that?" His question was mocking and bitter.

"Yes," Jack answered simple, moving across the bed and taking the young man into his arms despite Ianto's resistance. "You've proved it a thousand times over, not that you ever needed to. She would never have wanted you to prove yourself to her. She would never have needed you to."

"How can you know?" Ianto's voice was small and almost child-like.

"Because I know you. And in knowing you I can see the kind of woman she must have been. She didn't have to stay with your tad but she did. She was strong, and brave, and stayed despite everything. You and Rhiannon and your tad were her whole life and she didn't want to lose that."

"Tad?" Ianto practically spat the name. "After how he treated her? He couldn't have cared less about her. She could have left and taken me and Rhi with her. We could have left him far behind."

"Was he upset when she died?"

"What?"

"When she died. Was your tad upset?" Jack asked quietly.

"No, he..." Ianto stopped as a memory of his tad sat at the kitchen table the day he had returned from the hospital for the last time, head buried in his arms, flashed before him. The man, looking far older than his fifty years had not been crying, but a crumpled photo had been clutched in one fist, and Ianto suddenly realised that pooled in the circle of his tad's arms had been the familiar bold blue patterned cotton of his mother's kitchen apron. His tad had raised his head then, and on seeing Ianto had yelled at him to leave. Ianto had fled, out of the kitchen, out of the house, and all the way to the park where his tad had found him eight hours later, in the dark, cold and shivering, and told him brusquely that his Mam had passed on. He had never seen his tad openly grieve for his mother but now, faced with Jack's direct question, he recollected how after that day something had always been absent in his father, and the missing piece had seemed to grow week after week until the day he died.

"He loved her," Ianto said finally, and there was a calmness in his tone which spoke of acceptance. "And she knew that. That's why she stayed." He looked at Jack with a crooked, tentative smile. "How did you know?"

"I've lost a son, I've lost a wife, I've lashed out at the people left behind. In the past I've been no better at handling my grief than your tad was."

Ianto leaned in to press a soft kiss to Jack's lips. "Thank you, Jack."

In response Jack pulled Ianto away from the wall and settled the Welshman against his shoulder, cocooning them both under the warm duvet.

"So are you going to tell me why you have an obsession with canal barges in the Yorkshire Dales or is this curious fascination you have going to remain a mystery?" Jack asked conversationally, trying to diffuse the charged atmosphere in the cabin. Ianto might have had an epiphany regarding his father and mother's feelings towards each other and himself but Jack was not naïve enough to believe that Ianto's resentment against his tad would disappear overnight. The plain truth was, Ianto had been hurt deeply by his father's words and actions towards himself and his mother and wounds like that were not easily healed, if they could be healed at all. Jack knew all he could do was watch and wait and make sure that he was there for his husband, as Ianto was always there for him.

Ianto gave a low chuckle which Jack could hear was forced. "You aren't going to let this drop, are you?" he asked rhetorically. "Alright, if you must know, when I was twelve tad arranged for us to go on a barge holiday on this stretch of canal. It was the only time we had a holiday that was outside of Wales. After two days I was hooked, and as soon I was old enough to holiday on my own I've been coming back. The last time was just before the 456 came, a couple of weeks before our run in with the Mericae."

"Invisible crystalline cow with a deadly death ray," Jack said lightly. "I remember." Although the words were casually spoken both men remembered the threat posed by the Mericae and the effect it had on their relationship and Jack hugged Ianto tightly. "But there has to be more to it than that. A canal boat holiday. From what you told me, it seems a bit out of character for your tad."

Ianto chuckled again and this time it was genuine. "It was. He was sort of forced into it. A work colleague of his, well, his boss actually, Mr Banks, owned a part share in a barge, a sort of time-share. You know, owned and maintained by five families and then they all get allotted weeks on it for holidays. Well, Mr Banks couldn't use his fortnight and since my tad had been talking about getting away for a holiday he asked if we wanted it. Tad couldn't really turn it down, it was free and he was really keen for us to get away, not to mention he would have offended the boss, so away we went. I remember it was the best holiday ever. The weather was spectacular and we sailed from Bingley to Barnoldswick and back. Tad let me drive the boat, we hired bikes and cycled along the tow-path, he even hired a car for a day and we went off up into the Dales. For two weeks we were a proper family. Tad even smiled on a couple of occasions. Mam was happier than I think I'd ever seen her." At the mention of his mother, Ianto seemed to deflate. When he continued his voice was filled with sadness. "About a month after we got back we found out she had pancreatic cancer. Three months after that she was dead. We never went on holiday as a family again and certainly never came back here. When I left home I started coming back up here. When I was at Uni I used to come up for a couple of weeks over the summer to crew for families hiring barges who didn't want to learn how to steer them. When I started with Torchwood One I used to come up here for my annual holiday and hire a barge from Mr Thwaite."

"This is the one place I can remember being truly happy as a kid, Jack. I just wanted to share it with you. I know it's a bit tame compared to what you're used to."

Jack shushed him with a kiss pressed into his hair. "It's absolutely wonderful, Yan. It's you and me together with no interruptions in a place that's truly ours with nothing to do with Torchwood. I can see us here at lot."

"Here as in the boat or the bed?" Ianto asked mischievously. Somehow this time talking about his mam's death hadn't triggered the wave of bitter loss that usually accompanied the subject. Instead, there was just a gentle wash of sadness that Jack would never get to meet his mother, or she meet the incredible man that was his husband.

"Both," Jack said confidently. "Every chance we can get."

Ianto turned in Jack's arms so that they were eye to eye. He raised his face, meeting Jack's lips half way in a fierce bruising kiss. Feeling Jack relax back into the pillows he pressed home his advantage, pushing up on one arm to raise himself above him, taking charge of the kiss, worrying Jack's lower lip with his teeth until the older man's lips parted, his tongue darting out to delicately trace the outline of Ianto's full mouth. Almost instantly Ianto responded in kind, his own tongue forcing Jack's back into his mouth, only to follow and duel in a battle of wills, each striving for dominance. Abruptly Ianto pulled his head back, leaving Jack straining upwards in vain to restore contact. Instead Ianto shifted, bringing one knee to each side of Jack's waist, and deliberately lowering his hips to grind against Jack's. Jack watched Ianto smile wickedly as he felt his own body respond instantly to Ianto's provocation. He thrust his hips upwards, the unexpected movement momentarily unseating his partner, but his hips were driven decisively down with a growl of possessiveness and the Welshman, eyes almost black with desire, bent his head to nip at the skin of Jack's throat, leaving him in no doubt as to who was in charge. He brought his hands up to grasp at Ianto's shoulders but the younger man batted them away, instead raising them above Jack's head, pinning them at the wrists with a single hand. With his other hand Ianto traced a path down the tender skin of Jack's under arm with one fingertip, increasing the pressure on Jack's wrists as the older man squirmed helplessly at his touch. Ianto lowered his head once more, this time to lave the skin behind Jack's ear in broad sweeping strokes, a spot he knew was almost exquisitely sensitised. Beneath his tongue he could feel Jack's pulse leap in response and the involuntary jerk of his head to create some distance between his skin and the velvety roughness of Ianto's tongue. Ianto followed, now alternating laving strokes with darting tongue-tip explorations of the shell of Jack's ear. Ianto felt the warm exhale of a muffled groan against the skin of collar bone and couldn't suppress the shiver of pure longing that quaked through him. Under the hand which pinned Jack's wrists he could feel the flex of muscles and tendons as Jack's spasmed at his touch. He circled his hips slowly, maintaining the heavy pressure against Jack's heated flesh, the friction reducing Jack's moan to a sharp intake of breath released in a guttural word which Ianto barely recognised as his own name. He smiled against the skin of Jack's neck and lowered his free hand to work it slowly between their hips, his long fingers confidently teasing the delicate skin beneath his fingertips.

Jack reared up, his heels dug deep into the mattress, but Ianto was ready, using the full weight of his body to drive him back down, his hips and fingers working in unison to give Jack no respite. Lifting his head from Jack's neck he looked down into the eyes of his lover, eyes which shone with the brightest blue Ianto had ever seen, eyes that were now pleading for release. He lifted the hand restraining Jack's wrists and they immediately flew to his face, cradling his features in a trembling hold. Jack tried to pull his face down to capture his lips but Ianto drew away with the merest shake of head.

"I want to watch you," he whispered. "I want to see your eyes."

Jack gave a mute nod. Ianto's eyes flared in anticipation as he lifted his hips and with one final grinding thrust accompanied by a cry of exultation drove Jack spiralling into oblivion.

* * *

><p>It was, they both later agreed, the perfect way to spend an anniversary. Jack assured Ianto that it was a flawless spring day outside, vivid cerulean skies speckled with tiny dabs of wispy white cloud and the kind of blinding sunlight that seems to highlight the trees and hills with an extra dimension beyond the usual three. Ianto couldn't see any of it, apart from the sapphire circle of the port hole window above the bed. Ianto's vision was instead filled with the piercing cerulean blue of Jack's eyes and the creamy expanse of Jack's skin, a sight more intoxicating to him than any spring day could ever achieve. Their time was filled with laughter and easy talk, when idle kisses turned in a split second to the frantic need to touch and be touched, to consume and be consumed.<p>

It would never be enough, Ianto realised as he lay limply across his husband's back, lacking the strength to even seek the sheltering warmth of Jack's arms. However long they had together, it would never be enough. The thought was accompanied by a curious elation. This feeling he had right now, the overwhelming need to touch and caress the skin beneath his cheek, would never leave him. It would never become old, something routine, at least not for him, and he was convinced not for Jack either. He lifted his head contemplating whether he had the energy to roll off Jack's back into his waiting arms and made a half-hearted attempt to pull away. Jack's head jerked up at the slight movement, waking from the half doze he'd fallen into.

"Don't you dare, Yan," he murmured sleepily. "I'm comfy."

"How can you possibly be comfy?" Ianto chuckled. "I'm not exactly feather-light."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Jack muttered lifting his head and peering over one shoulder so that Ianto just caught sight of his husband's roguish expression.

"Jack, you're insatiable," he scolded, rolling his eyes in despair, but he shifted his hips a few centimetres experimentally. To his satisfaction he felt a shudder run through the body beneath him, and his fatigue was instantly forgotten. He shifted his hips again, letting his finger tips caress the angular planes of Jack's hip bones. This time the shudder that ran through the immortal was violent and accompanied by a low moan which drew an answering shiver of response from Ianto.

Leaning forward, Ianto ran his hands up either side of Jack's waist and torso, letting his fingers continue up the length of each arm, extended above Jack's head, to interlace with Jack's fingers, kneading the pillow in an almost frenzied rhythm. At his touch the fingers stilled, then curled around his own. Lowering his head Ianto ran his tongue down Jack's neck from his hairline to his shoulder blades, leaving a damp stripe that sprang to goosebumps as he blew gently across it before turning his attention to the hollow between Jack's shoulder blades, alternating the broad sweeps of his tongue with the lightest of breaths across the surface. He heard Jack's breath release in a long exhale that seemed to catch in his throat. His fingers tightened, squeezing Jack's between them and he lifted his hips, thrusting down with infinite slowness, centimetre by agonising centimetre, searing a path to his core. Already sensitised beyond measure, Jack came almost immediately, his own hips bucking backwards so violently that Ianto's fingers were ripped from his grasp, the young man falling backwards with a hoarse cry of triumph that picked up from where his husband's left off.

* * *

><p>The following morning dawned in a shimmer of hazy sunshine and mist which hung low over the water of the canal, obscuring the distant fells from view. Cocooned in the wispy white strands, Jack and Ianto stood on the aft deck nursing mugs of coffee, the steam rising to mingle with the early morning fog. It felt like they were the last two people on the planet. It was a belief that, at that moment, suited both of them down to the ground.<p>

"Part of me is thinking I should be aggrieved that you dragged me out of bed this morning," Jack grumbled, watching as the vapour of his own breath billowed out to join the all-enveloping whiteness. "I was comfy."

Ianto smiled fondly at his husband's grumpy expression. "Jack, we could hardly stay welded to the mattress for another day," he argued gently.

"I don't see why not," Jack countered. "It seemed like the ideal place to be, in my opinion, and I don't recall hearing any argument from you either." He tried to maintain the disgruntled frown, but found his lips curving slyly at the memories of the past twenty four hours. "In fact, on at least two occasions I distinctly remember you positively preventing me from getting out from beneath that duvet." His fingertips tapped thoughtfully on the side of his mug. "Actually, make that three." He sipped his coffee carefully, watching his husband's cheeks turn rosy.

"Three?" The question was torn from Ianto's lips before he'd had time to counsel himself regarding the wisdom of drawing Jack into a debate on the subject.

"T-shirt, second bottle of single malt, blindfold," Jack reminded him with a grin, watching as the rosy hue suddenly flared vivid scarlet. "Mind you, I can't blame you if you forgot that, you were rather...overcome...by the experience.

Averting his eyes somewhat self-consciously Ianto took a gulp of scalding hot coffee. "Yes, well..."

Jack lifted one hand to caress one still flaming cheek. "It was incredible, Yan. Not just that either. This whole trip has been wonderful."

Ianto covered Jack's hand with his own. "For me too, Jack. I didn't think I could be any happier, but I was wrong."

Jack pulled Ianto to him, the younger man automatically leaning back against the warm expanse of Jack's chest, the equally warm brand of Jack's arm wrapping beneath his ribs. Ianto gave a contented sigh.

"Maybe getting up was a bad idea," he conceded, his body responding even to that light touch, arching back to maximise every millimetre of contact.

"No, you were right. We needed a bit of fresh air..."

Ianto shot Jack a disbelieving look over his shoulder.

"And an excuse to do a bit of that 'look don't touch' letching we both enjoy so much," the immortal continued, with a far from innocent smirk which was completely wasted, given that Ianto had no chance of observing it, clamped as he was to Jack's chest. "Besides, you promised I could drive."

Ianto giggled, an unexpected and distinctly un-Iantoish sound. "Sounds fair," he commented, turning in Jack's arms so that they were face to face. "But we can't set off until the mist's lifted a bit. The visibility is too poor. It's far too dangerous." As he spoke he pushed his hips forward provocatively, whilst at the same time loosening the button of Jack's jeans and working one hand beneath the waistband, his fingers splayed over the soft skin he found beneath.

Taken by surprise the older man stumbled back a step, his lower back jarring against the bulkhead of the cabin. Ianto matched his retreating step, never letting the contact between them diminish. Jack's arm, now clamped around Ianto's waist, convulsed, his fingers bunching momentarily in the soft material of Ianto's fleece jacket before scrabbling to find the bottom edge so that he too could seek out the smooth heated flesh he knew lay somewhere below.

Ianto deposited his coffee cup on the cabin roof, uncaring as it slid a few centimetres towards the edge, then he simultaneously sought out Jack's mouth whilst he relieved Jack of his mug and deposited next to his own. Their hands free, Ianto cupped the back of Jack's head, pulling his mouth still closer, his lips aggressively grinding against Jack's whilst his hips mirrored their action, his fingers now deeply penetrating, eager to find the burning flesh which seemed to remain tantalisingly and frustratingly out of reach, his progress impeded by the heavy close fitting denim.

In the meantime, Jack had lost no time in putting his free hand to good use, pushing up the front of Ianto's jacket and t-shirt, his long fingers on a quest of their own, looking for the nubs of flesh which he knew would by now be aching for his touch. He brushed one thumb over the puckered flesh, feather-light but enough to send his husband's body arching towards him, an indistinct cry muffled against the barrier of his mouth. He brushed his thumb back, this time harder, and now Ianto's body convulsed sharply and he felt the younger man's fingers curl against his own flesh so that Ianto's convulsion was picked up and carried through his own body. This time it was his own cry that was lost in Ianto's mouth.

Ianto pulled his lips away. "We should get indoors," he said shakily.

Jack stilled, his gaze holding Ianto's intently. "I can't wait that long, can you?" Mutely Ianto shook his head and with one shaking hand released the remaining buttons of Jack's fly, pushing the worn, faded denim over Jack's hips, giving his access to the satin skin that had been denied him. Jack's eyes were almost indigo as he held Ianto's wide eyed stare, his own hands now working at the waistband of Ianto's jeans, but in his case to caress the flesh of Ianto's behind. Then, slowly, deliberately he threw his head back to give Ianto unrestricted access to his throat, laying himself open for Ianto to take whatever he wanted. And Ianto took, his mouth biting and laving, nipping and soothing, as all the time his hands caressed every millimetre of skin beneath them. Jack's skin was aflame, the heat, which had begun as a mere ticklish warmth in his belly, was now an inferno, radiating out from his very core in wave after devastating wave. And at the crest of every wave was Ianto's touch, playful and knowing and deliberately never quite enough to free the swirling fire that was threatening to consume him. He was held on a knife edge and, as much as he wanted to let the fire consume him, a bigger part wanted to remain on that knife edge, that wonderful precipice, for as long as he could hold out. He clamped his lips together, knowing that any sound that was driven from between his teeth would be the catalyst which sent him spiralling out of control.

And still Ianto's mouth and hands teased, only now the mouth was whispering against his skin a mixture of endearments and descriptions, in English and Welsh of exactly what he meant to Ianto and what Ianto meant to do to him, and the hands, one minute light and playful, were now kneading and probing and full of purpose. Jack shuddered, his hands tightening on Ianto's behind, his voice escaping in a guttural cry which echoed through the mist, startling birds from their roosts, driving them to flight. His knees collapsed beneath him, and his back slid down the cabin wall, both men sinking to the floor with out a centimetre of contact being lost.

Sprawled now on the deck, the cold impress of metal tread branded icily into the bare flesh at his back, Jack gasped again, this time in shock at the cold, and Ianto's hand's and mouth stilled. Jack almost moaned at the loss.

"We can go inside," Ianto murmured, his tone was reluctant.

Jack shook his head, enforcing his answer with questing fingers which drew a shuddered growl from deep in Ianto's throat. Ianto lowered his head to lave Jack's throat once more, his hands resuming their deliberate teasing strokes. Jack strained against the fabric that confined his hips and thighs, his heated skin aching for release into the cool air. But Ianto and his hands clearly had their own agenda. He stifled a plea.

The low boom of a boat horn blasted through the melody of gasps and panting moans. Jack froze. Ianto froze, his hands suddenly rigid and cold against Jack's skin. Wordlessly the men pulled apart, pulling clothes around themselves as they hurriedly tumbled down through the hatchway, pulling the door closed behind them less than a second before a day barge, packed with twenty tourists, emerged from the mist.

* * *

><p>Marie-Ann Jenkins, 89, leader of the Airton and Hetton Woman's Institute, looked with interest at the sleekly painted boat tied up at its secluded mooring, rocking far more than she would have expected in the wake of their much smaller day boat, and nudged her neighbour.<p>

"Vicky, these boats may look very beautiful," she said with a disparaging air and a dismissive shake of her head, "but they do strike me as terribly unstable."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Who-verse. That honour belongs to RTD (the TW arm at least – Miracle Day, what were you thinking?), Steven Moffat (I am not worthy) and the mighty and glorious BBC. I merely play here occasionally and try to set right the terrible wrongs inflicted on Jack and Ianto...**

**So here we are, the long (very long) awaited final chapter. I'm sorry it has taken such a ridiculous time to post. I must lay the blame firmly at the door of the dreaded writer's block with additional contributions from decorating, summer hols and work deadlines. The plus side is that, a bit like the last chapter, the boys had unfinished business which means that it's sneaked up to almost 10,000 words.**

**As always heartfelt thanks to my beta Orion for adding that last touch of polish. Grateful thanks too to all of you who have taken the time to read, review and stick with this story. I really appreciate your continued support and I hope this last chapter was worth the wait!**

* * *

><p>The sun was already well overhead by the time they finally cast off the mooring ropes and pulled out into the by now steady procession of boats passing them in both directions. Although Jack longed for a turn at the helm, Ianto had apologetically but firmly informed him that a series of locks began just around the next bend and he had no intention of handing over control of Myfanwy to an unpractised hand.<p>

"No problem," Jack replied with an easy smile. "I don't know about you, but I worked up quite an appetite this morning." The smile almost descended into a leer.

"Jack...," Ianto muttered, in a tone half way between despair and regret.

"What?" Jack's face was suddenly a picture of innocence. "I was merely enquiring if you fancied some lunch. With what I found this morning in that big fridge I can rustle us up a mean club sandwich." He raised one eyebrow questioningly.

Ianto looked relieved, although the infinitesimal slump in the arm resting on the tiller screamed disappointment.

"A club sandwich would be great," he confirmed.

Jack vanished through the hatchway and moments later the sound of banging cupboards and clattering utensils drifted up from the bowels of the boat. Ianto winced at the mess he knew would be left waiting for him to find.

"Are you all right down there?" he called into the open hatch, flinching as a particularly loud crash and tinkle told him that at least one glass had not survived the Myfanwy's maiden voyage.

There was a beat of silence before Jack's voice, in a tone that Ianto recognised as his 'Everything's-gone-to-hell-but-I-don't-want-you-to-know-it' approach, replied, "Yep, it's all under control." There was a pause and then, conversationally, "These worktops are stunning. Real granite, are they?"

Ianto almost groaned aloud. Clearly Jack was now looking at a great gouge in the worktop. "No, granite would have been too heavy," he said, keeping his voice calm and level. "Those are made from an experimental lightweight polymer manufactured to look and feel like granite."

"I imagine they were quite expensive." Jack's voice had moved on to the 'I'm-fucked' tone that was normally reserved for occasions when faced by impending doom or the need to conduct annual personnel appraisals.

"Very," Ianto said dryly. "How big is the hole, Jack?"

"Tiny," Jack assured him. "Well, small anyway." There was another, longer pause. "About five centimetres across. Sorry."

"I'll deduct the replacement from your next month's salary," Ianto said smoothly. "How long will lunch be?"

"Five minutes." Jack's relief was palpable.

"Try not to sink our boat in the meantime," Ianto called down. "And Captain Harkness? Consider yourself on wash-up duty for the rest of the holiday."

Jack's "Yes, sir!" was inexplicably jaunty.

* * *

><p>Ianto had to admit that the club sandwiches, stuffed with so many slices of chicken and bacon that he could hardly hold the two sides of the sandwich together, were utterly delicious and might even have been worth the ruined worktop (Jack's five centimetres were nearer ten when he'd finally summoned up the courage to look). An hour's steady cruising had brought the Myfanwy to the base of the impressive stairway of seven locks that made up Bank Newton Locks, the grey Yorkshire stone lock-keeper's cottage nestled against the hillside. Two locks above them, Jack and Ianto could see the lower gates slowly swinging open, telling them that another boat was making the long slow descent.<p>

Ianto steered the boat into the side and killed the engine while Jack jumped ashore to tether either end of the barge.

"It'll be about half-an-hour," Ianto said with a smile. "Do you fancy stretching your legs?" Without waiting for an answer, he jumped down onto the bank and began to stroll leisurely up towards the first pair of lock gates. Jack hurried after him, before slowing to match his pace and slipping his hand into the younger man's. He smiled as he felt Ianto squeeze gently. It was so rare that they had chance to do this, just be a couple.

In silence they climbed the path which rose alongside the locks. The locks were busy, the fine weather bringing out a multitude of walkers and picnickers to the landscaped grassy slopes. Both men smiled and nodded politely to those they met on the path but it was clear to anyone who saw them that they were in a world of their own where any further friendly exchange of greetings would only be viewed as an intrusion. Just above the third lock they halted where a broad slope ran up the hill to their left, studded with early spring flowers, and turned to look back down the flight of locks to the Myfanwy, the dark green blaze of the Dales hills behind her rising to meet the cloudless azure sky.

"I can understand why you love it here, Yan," Jack said with a sigh of contentment. "I mean, I love my cities, Cardiff, New York, New New New York, Veltersimmion Hive Five...but this is just so..." He struggled for the word.

"Perfect," Ianto filled in with a grin. "I felt the same way at twelve. I feel the same now." He squeezed Jack's hand hard and leaned his head back on Jack's shoulder. "Actually it's better now. So much better..." He left the statement hanging. Suddenly, spotting that the descending boat was just about to exit the last pair of lock gates, he stood up and set off at the sprint down the hill.

"Race you," he yelled over his shoulder.

Jack won, but only by a hair's breath. Panting, Ianto collapsed against the guard rail, but not without first firing up the engine.

Barely out of breath, Jack untied the boat and was about to walk up to the lock when Ianto shook his head and waved for him to climb aboard.

"No...need...there's...a...keeper," he managed between gasps. He swallowed hard. "And...there's...loads of...day-trippers...who want...a...go." He waved vaguely to one side and Jack, following his wave, noticed, for the first time a dozen people, men, women and children, leaning against the lock gates with excited, expectant faces.

Face still scarlet from the exertion, but finally catching his breath, Ianto straightened and steered the Mayfanwy into the narrow lock which was only wide enough for a single boat. With a call of thanks, Jack threw the rope up to the waiting arms of a young walker colourfully garbed in cherry red walking trousers and jacket. Moments later the Myfanwy had begun its ascent, the moving walls reminding Jack of an old-fashioned goods elevator.

"You never get out of breath," Ianto complained as his breathing finally settled into something approaching a regular rhythm. "It's an unfair advantage."

Jack chuckled. "Don't blame me, blame the whole immortality package. Anyway, I do get out of breath, look at last night." As he spoke he ran the tip of his tongue across his top, then bottom lip in a lazy circle.

"Jack, there are minors about," Ianto admonished, lifting his eyes warningly to the children watching from the lock sides. "Time and a place."

Jack leaned back against the cabin roof with a satisfied smirk.

"Time...?" He checked the chronometer built into the defunct Vortex manipulator on his wrist. "About seven hours from now. No, make that six. Place?" His eyes raked down the length of Ianto's body, leaving the young man under no illusions that the immortal was mentally stripping every stitch of clothing from him. "I'll make my mind up later," he said thoughtfully.

"Er...lads?"

The shout from one side brought the two men up abruptly and looking round, face flushed with embarrassment, Ianto saw the amused gaze of the lock keeper, a bearded man in his forties.

"Sorry," he apologised, steering the boat out of the open upper lock gates and directly into the open lower gates of the second lock.

"I think we should keep our minds on the locks," he hissed to a grinning Jack. "Imagine all these people are a pack of vicious K'nids and we're trying to escape."

"Vicious what?" Jack asked in confusion.

"Vicious K'nids. Jesus, Jack, please don't tell me you've never read Roald Dahl? Our base is built under the Plas named after him," Ianto scolded, genuinely taken aback.

"So many books, so little time," Jack apologised with a shrug. "So, these K'nids? Very dangerous, right?"

"Yes, Jack, very dangerous. Giant egg-shaped beings from Vermes. Like to spell the word SCRAM to show off," Ianto explained patiently.

"Oh, you mean Verniciouskernids," Jack exclaimed. "Why didn't you say so? OK, I agree, they would require us to escape as quickly as possible. Love to know how Roald Dahl knew about them...unless...where was Mr Dahl in 1953?"

"Jack?" Ianto gave his husband a look which said quite clearly that he didn't believe a word he was saying, or at least was reasonably sure he didn't believe a word he was saying, or... He swallowed. Jack's face was impassive, his eyes darkly serious.

"Jack..." he repeated, and this time his voice held a strong tremor of doubt.

The immortal face remained grim for a full ten seconds, then it broke into an impish smile and he blew the younger man a kiss. "Gotcha!"

* * *

><p>The remaining four locks passed uneventfully, although. the dark glances Ianto kept throwing in Jack's direction told the immortal that his husband would be working on payback sometime in the not too distant future.<p>

"So, is there any chance of me getting a drive?" Jack questioned, once they had reached the broad stretch of water at the top of the flight of locks.

"After that stunt you pulled with the Vicious K'nids?" Ianto scoffed. Jack's face fell, and he looked so disappointed that Ianto didn't have the heart to tease him further. "Oh, all right. Just so you know though, don't think for one instant that I've forgotten, or that I'm going to let you get away with it." He grinned as Jack's face lit up once more with boyish enthusiasm, and beckoned him over to take his place at the tiller.

"Remember, work the tiller in the opposite direction you want to go," Ianto directed, guiding Jack's hand with his own. "And Jack, remember this doesn't react like those speed boats you are so fond of driving. You need to move well in advance of any obstacle." He stepped away and leaned back against the cabin bulkhead, his brow creased with concern. "I don't want a hole in my boat like there is in the worktop."

"Our boat," Jack corrected gently.

"What?"

"She's our boat. Relax, Yan. I've got it covered," the older man assured him.

And it appeared he did. After half a mile of incident free cruising in which Jack had successfully navigated around two oncoming craft, Ianto had to concede, with a little irritation, that Jack clearly found the new challenge of piloting the Myfanwy down the narrow canal as effortless as he seemed to find every other challenge he faced. Really, the man had no business being talented at everything.

They were passing through leafy woodland now, the drooping branches of willow trees grazing the water and masking one bank. In the cool shade Ianto found himself relaxing enough to start watching the scenery rather than every movement of Jack's hand on the tiller and soon the random patchwork of dappled sunlight on the surface of the water, the slow deep throb of the engine and the cries of water fowl had lulled him into a daydream in which delicious payback and Jack featured heavily.

"Shit!"

Jack's sudden curse shocked Ianto out of his reverie. He looked round wildly at the immortal, although the slender whipping branches of a willow hitting his face as he turned informed him exactly what was wrong. The Myfanwy was almost grazing the wooded bank. Angry words at Jack's carelessness sprang to his lips, but before he could voice them he saw the reason for Jack's manoeuvre. A pleasure cruiser was barging its way up the centre of the canal, clearly unwilling to give any ground. At the helm a corpulent, balding fifty-something, wearing mirrored sunglasses and a sneer, seemed oblivious to their presence.

"Hey there! Move over!" Jack called pleasantly, easing off the throttle, his voice loud even above the throaty roar of the pleasure cruiser's engine. The man made no acknowledgement, even though there was no way he could not have heard Jack's request. Jack flushed red with anger.

"Oi, wanker," he bellowed, all pleasantness vanishing. "Move that crate over now or I'll... I'll... report you." Well, he could hardly shoot the man, could he?

Now almost level with the nose of the Myfanwy the man slowed the cruiser a fraction and looked down condescendingly at Jack over the top of his sunglasses.

"Really? Who to? The British Waterways Agency?" he sneered. "I'm so scared." And deliberately he raised his middle finger in salute.

Wordlessly Jack reached into the back pocket of his jeans pulling out his wallet and, flipping it open to his ID, the Torchwood logo plain to see, turned it to show the man, who was by now abreast of him.

"Are you scared now?" Jack asked in an even, silky tone, watching as every vestige of colour fled the man's florid face. "Thought so."

Shakily the white-faced man turned the wheel, moving the pleasure cruiser away from the Myfanwy towards to the far bank, even though he was now well past Jack and Ianto. Jack watched the boat retreat and then turned round to face Ianto once more, his smile broad.

"That was fun." He pushed forward the throttle, aiming the barge back into the centre of the canal.

"I'm glad to see you are in no way continuing to abuse your Torchwood credentials," Ianto said in a reproving tone, although his eyes glittered with barely contained amusement. In his opinion there were few things as hot as watching his husband throw his weight around against arseholes who desperately deserved it. "You'll have half the canal community scared to talk to us if you keep it up."

"And the other half will be commenting on our nocturnal activities," Jack shot back cheekily. "Speaking of which, shouldn't we be finding some where out of the way to moor up? As I recall there was some discussion of an appropriate time and place. By my reckoning, the appropriate time is fast approaching, all we need is an appropriate place..." He looked hopefully in Ianto's direction, but the Welshman shook his head regretfully.

"Sorry, Jack, there are no private or secluded moorings along this stretch. We'll have to stay in one of the public moorings, lots of people about."

Jack's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "I was looking forward to this evening," he complained. "I'd got it all planned out in my head. You would have really enjoyed it," he added mournfully.

"Sorry, cariad, it'll have to wait till we're alone... Or at least not wedged in between two other barges." Ianto shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "Look, we better pull in here, it's already getting busy and at least there's a pub just up the lane. We can go out for a meal, the food's decent."

Jack looked at the small, already crowded mooring approaching on the port side and scowled. Ianto's prediction that they would be sandwiched looked to be spot-on.

"Here, let me guide her in," Ianto said, relieving Jack of the tiller, "it's a bit tight."

Jack leaned back against the cabin, his handsome features marred by a sulky frown. At the helm, Ianto, observing his husbands childish huff, smirked inwardly. Payback was coming along nicely...

* * *

><p>Three hours later Jack's mood had improved, but his shoulders still slumped dejectedly as he strolled back from the pub. The pub, all low ceilings, wood beams and white-washed walls, had served a good pint of Copper Dragon from the local brewery in Skipton and offered a menu that, whilst not extensive, had showcased some of the area's finest produce. As a consequence Jack was more than comfortably full, on the verge of tipsy, and as horny as hell with no prospect of gratification. It was enough to make an immortal swear, he thought grumpily, especially as his husband didn't seem in the least bit put out that the evening promised nothing more than a chaste kiss and cuddle.<p>

The last rays of spring sunshine had long since vanished below the horizon, leaving nothing more than a faint glow on the western horizon and the lane, shadowed by ancient trees on either side, was gloomy, only the lights from barges on the distant canal showing them the way home. It was deserted, the heavy tread of Jack's boots the only sound in the encroaching darkness.

Suddenly Jack became aware that Ianto was no longer matching his stride. He paused, turning to look for his husband, and suddenly found his wrist being grabbed tightly. A moment later he was dragged from the road into the hedgerow. Ianto's grip didn't lessen and Jack realised the younger man was pulling him through a gap in the thicket which bordered the lane and into what appeared to be a copse of trees beyond. Before he could open his mouth to question what Ianto was up to, his back was slammed against a broad tree trunk and his mouth was being devoured, that was the only word for it, by his husband's. Teeth and tongues clashed against his, remorselessly seeking dominance, barely giving Jack the freedom to respond. Ianto released Jack's wrist, instead pushing the older man's shoulders against the bark as his tongue plundered the depths of Jack's mouth time and time again. His hips sought rest against Jack's, his arousal evident. Ianto released Jack's shoulders but leaned in close, his weight keeping Jack pinned to the trunk. The bark was rough at his back, digging through the thin material of his T-shirt, but somehow the feeling was more sensual than painful and Jack groaned against Ianto's mouth, the sound guttural and muffled. In response Ianto's hands delved between them, fingers eagerly seeking out Jack's waistband, freeing the hem of the T-shirt so that warm fingers could finally caress heated skin. At the touch Jack shivered, his desire, so close to the surface all evening, blazing up. His hands, until now limp at his sides, reached up and around Ianto's back, aiming to return the favour. His fingers scrabbled for purchase, Ianto's frenzied and continued attack on his mouth robbing him of reason and coordination. Eventually he managed to free Ianto's shirt from his jeans, his hands sliding up the smooth skin of Ianto's back. Ianto's breath hitched in his throat and he bit down on Jack's lower lip, almost drawing blood. Jack's cry was swallowed by Ianto's mouth, lifted a fraction from Jack's lips.

"Sssh," he mouthed, his words barely a breath. "You'll wake the neighbours." He thrust one hand inside Jack's jeans, his fingers seeking out the velvet flesh straining for release, and grinned against Jack's lips as, object achieved, he felt his husband buck wildly against his hand. "Quiet," he commanded. "Not a sound."

Jack's eyes flared wide with surprise, simultaneously darkening with desire. Mute, he nodded, his movement restrained by Ianto's mouth resuming the kiss. But only for a moment. Without lifting his mouth, Ianto instead let his tongue travel down languorously across the immortal's chin and neck, his tongue laving a wide warm trail across his skin. He felt a shiver run though the older man's frame and, seemingly unable to support its own weight, Jack's head lolled back until it was supported by the trunk. As Ianto's lips and tongue wove slowly down, his free hand worked Jack's t-shirt up his chest, centimetre by aching centimetre, until the material was bunched between them, exposing Jack's heated skin to the cool night air and, another shudder that had nothing to do with the cold, frissoned down the length of Jack's spine. Smiling against the trembling skin of his husband's neck, Ianto let his fingers turn their attention to Jack's nipples, rolling them between his fingertips, working them to such a state of sensitisation that, when his mouth encountered the neckline of the T-shirt and he transferred its attention to them, he felt Jack's legs start to buckle beneath him, and heard a harsh exhale of breath, just short of a silent scream.

"You like that, don't you, Jack?" he commented throatily against the skin of Jack's chest. Jack opened his mouth to respond, but Ianto placed a finger on his lips and he nodded instead, his hands tightening on Ianto's back, fingernails digging deep into the pale skin. Ianto's body arched, driving his hips deeper against Jack's, Ianto's trapped fingers flexing involuntarily. There was a harsh rattle deep in Jack's throat as his own hips spasmed in reply.

Ianto's lips settled once more over Jack's nipple, lazily sucking and teasing before moving over to the other to repeat. After a minute his mouth resumed its downward exploration. Jack's back arched, straining against Ianto's mouth, his hands against his lover's shoulders, pushing his head down to the flat planes of his stomach and beyond, telegraphing his obvious need.

Ianto lifting his head to look up at Jack with sly amusement. "Really, Jack? Against a tree? In a dark lane? Sort-of living up to the stereotype, aren't we?"

Jack's reply was no more than a pair of dark, pleading orbs, almost black with need. They held Ianto's momentarily, silently begging, before Jack's head fell forward, chin to his chest, his breathing laboured.

With a soft sigh Ianto released the button on Jack's jeans with his free hand, pushing the denim down over Jack's hips. He felt Jack sag against the tree, sensing imminent fulfilment.

"Against a tree it is," he said wickedly. "Remember, not a sound, cariad..."

The good captain would, Ianto pondered later, have some explaining to do as to why he needed to be treated for bite marks to his hand, but the Welshman had to admit, his husband hadn't made a sound.

Nor had he, for that matter, but then the bite marks on Jack's shoulder were much easier to hide.

Maybe he could blame them on the Verniciouskernids. There was, he reflected, a lot to be said for payback.

* * *

><p>Much to Jack's disappointment Ianto chivvied him out of bed the following morning with almost disgusting haste, deftly avoiding Jack's hands as they made a concerted effort to draw the Welshman back into the cocoon of the duvet.<p>

"Sorry, cariad," the younger man apologised as Jack made his displeasure known through a series of grunts and deep sighs. "Today is our last chance to get through the Foulridge tunnel. We have to turn back tomorrow if we want to have any chance of getting back to the boatyard on time."

As he spoke he deliberately threw the duvet back, the cool air hitting Jack's skin like an Arctic blast.

"Sadist," Jack grumbled as he reluctantly rolled over and up until he was perching on the side of the bed. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't _want_ to back to the boatyard at all. Our little private mooring on the other hand..." His last words were muffled as he pulled the single remaining intact black t-shirt over his head.

The temptation to capture Jack's hands above his head, trap him inside his improvised strait-jacket, and push him back against the mattress was strong enough for Ianto to take a step towards the immortal, but before he could act further on his impulse, Jack's tousled hair emerged through the neck hole and his piercing blue eyes fixed Ianto with a knowing smirk.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't agree with me a thousand percent?"

Ianto blinked innocently and, without deigning to give his husband the satisfaction of a reply, turned his back and walked out of the bedroom into the main cabin, aware that Jack's smirk was following his every step.

Jack joined him there less than a minute later, the black t-shirt now moulded to the planes of Jack's well-defined shoulders and chest, a pair of faded denim jeans worn through at the knees emphasising rather than obscuring his long lean legs.

Ianto thrust a mug of steaming coffee into his hands, leaned across to drop a warm but chaste kiss on his lips and retreated back to the galley kitchen, perching on one of the high stools tucked under the breakfast bar.

Jack looked down at his mug, then across to Ianto and the kitchen, which appeared to be devoid of food of any description. His face fell.

"Are you trying to starve me?" he asked disconsolately. "I worked up quite an appetite last night if you recall."

"It's an incentive," Ianto replied with a cheeky grin. "There's a café about an hour further on that does a mean all-day breakfast. Sausage, bacon, black pudding, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, hash browns and as much tea and toast as you can eat." His grin widened as he watched Jack positively salivate at his description.

"Fried bread?" Jack asked hopefully. Ianto grimaced.

"I don't know how you can eat that stuff. Pure grease." He shuddered. "But, yes, fried bread, if that's what you desire."

Jack sighed in contentment at the prospect. Then, as though he'd only just taken in Ianto's actual words, his lips curved slyly and he stepped across to Ianto, pinning him back against the counter with the weight of his body.

"But, if we're talking about what I desire..." he murmured in Ianto's ear. Leaving the sentence hanging, his mouth found the skin of Ianto's neck, his teeth grazing lightly down towards the younger man's collarbone before retracing his path with sweeping strokes of his tongue. With satisfaction he felt Ianto lean into his touch, the Welshman's breath escaping in a long sigh that contained Jack's name.

Without lifting his mouth from Ianto's neck, Jack deposited his coffee mug on the counter, freeing up his hands to position them on either side of his husband, preventing him from escaping.

Not that Ianto felt like moving anywhere. From the first breath of Jack's murmur, his desire to move anywhere had deserted him entirely. The effect of Jack's touch had been immediate, igniting a steady burn low in his belly and robbing him of the will to do anything but seek more of Jack's caress. As Jack's mouth moved across his skin he belatedly realised that his own coffee mug was trapped between his body and Jack's, in hands that were fast losing the capacity to hold onto the container of scalding liquid. As though reading his thoughts, he felt Jack's hand push between them, divesting him of the burden. He arched his back, hoping that Jack would give him the touch he so desperately needed but after a moment he felt Jack's hand return to its position on the counter top, trapping him on the stool. His disappointment was halted as he felt Jack push insistently at his legs, willing him to move them apart and let the immortal in closer. He obliged, pushing his hips forward so that they connected against Jack's, the slow burn flaring to an inferno of sudden heat and need. He tried to raise his arms to touch Jack but felt Jack's head shake against his neck, the barrier of Jack's arms at either side tightening, preventing movement.

Jack's mouth moved around and down, lips and tongue working against the hollow at the base of his throat. Clenching his hands into fists at his sides, Ianto's head fell back involuntarily, a low moan escaping his throat. At the sound, Jack ground his hips slowly forward, his body tensing as Ianto met his thrust with one of his own. The friction of skin against denim, stoking the radiating heat that burned like a brand despite the still chaste contact.

Ianto's hands tried to fight free, his fingers flexing as they sought the waistband of Jack's jeans, but still Jack held him immobile.

"Jesus, Jack," he pleaded. "I need..." His words were lost in a gasping intake of breath as Jack bit down hard on his collar bone through the fabric of his T-shirt at the same time as grinding forward again, the circular motion driving Ianto back against the edge of the stool until the hard plastic edge dug deep into the back of his thighs. A streak of fire shot from his hips to his collarbone and back again, the sensation pooling in his belly like molten lava. His need was primal, raw. Captive, not only by Jack's weight but also by the confines of his clothes Ianto could feel his body trembling, begging for release. A second bite, this time on the bare skin just below his ear, another grinding thrust of Jack's hips and Ianto came, convulsing as the fire exploded outwards through his limbs, Jack's name erupting hoarsely from him as his body, still pinned, strained feebly against Jack's. But still Jack's assault on his neck and throat continued, hips rotating against him in an ever-increasing frenzy of movement, refusing to let him rest, and incredibly Ianto felt the urgency begin to build once more. Flexing his hands, he found that his fingers were now in a position to hook through the belt loops on his husband's jeans and he pulled Jack closer until he could work his fingers underneath the soft material of the tucked in T-shirt. As his fingers found the skin of Jack's stomach, he felt the older man shudder and for the first time he heard Jack give a low, harsh cry.

"I need to touch you...now!" Ianto's words were stilted and breathless. "All of you."

Jack made no reply, instead standing up to release Ianto and pulled the younger man after him back towards the bedroom. As soon as they were in the privacy of the still curtained room, Jack pulled Ianto back into his arms, pulling his T-shirt roughly over his head, revealing the Welshman's pale skin. Then he knelt down, and undoing the button of his husband's jeans, worked the faded denim down, past his hips, freeing each leg in turn. Breathlessly Ianto stepped free of the material pooled at this ankles, and looked down at Jack, still knelt at his feet. Jack hands ran down the length of his legs, skimming his hipbones with a light but sensuous touch that sent shudders of desire skidding up and down his spine. Jack smiled, caressing Ianto's bare feet, his mouth feathering the skin of his ankles and calves with light kisses, tickling the skin.

"Bloody hell, Jack. I thought I was supposed to be touching you," Ianto breathed.

"Plenty of time for that," Jack promised. "It's my turn now." His hands grasped Ianto at the hip, turning the younger man round and suddenly the kisses became open-mouthed, Jack's tongue cutting a swath up the back of Ianto's leg, the tip of his tongue swirling momentarily in the hollow at the back of the knee before continuing on its journey upwards.

"God, Jack," Ianto moaned, his fists clenching at his sides as Jack's tongue laved the top his thigh. He felt his legs start to give beneath him so that only Jack's hands on his hips were keeping him upright. Jack's mouth transferred to his other leg, this time travelling downwards as far as his knee, where Jack's mouth suckled the sensitive skin for a full minute.

Ianto's breath came in harsh gasps. Jack hadn't even touched him, yet another few seconds and he would come apart at the seams again.

Sensing his husband was close, Jack drew his head away, rising to his feet and pulling Ianto back against the solid warmth of his chest.

"Not yet," he admonished softly. Gently he lowered Ianto forward, laying him face down on the bed and climbed over him, straddling his calves. Lowering his head, he kissed the nape of the Welshman's neck, delighting as his husband squirmed at his touch. His hands played up and down Ianto's sides, the weight of his body pinning the younger man to the mattress, preventing any movement other than the tremors of passion which coursed through his limbs at the assault of Jack's touch on his inflamed flesh. At the same time, the immortal's mouth swept a path downwards, slow and steady, not leaving a centimetre of skin untouched. At each flick of the tongue he heard Ianto's moan, muffled by the soft down of the duvet beneath his head, interspersed with inarticulate pleas. Jack's mouth came to rest in the hollow at the base of Ianto's spine. He let one finger trace carefully and deliberately down the contour of Ianto's spine. On reaching the resting place of his lips, Jack placed it between his lips twirling his tongue about the tip before placing the wet digit against Ianto's skin to travel onwards into the start of the cleft there. He paused as he felt Ianto's hips strain up against his hand and mouth, desperately seeking the resolution Jack was offering. Letting his finger still, so close and yet achingly far away from the destination Ianto craved, Jack lifted the finger briefly, replacing the caress with a single laving kiss, then raised his head, bringing his mouth close to his husband's ear. He knew what his husband wanted, but he wanted to hear the words just the same.

"Tell me what you want," he mouthed, his lips brushing the curve of Ianto's ear.

Ianto's answer was almost a whimper. "Please, cariad. I need to feel you. All of you..." Panting, hands scrabbling against the duvet searching for some kind of anchor as shudders of desire began to shake his frame, Ianto twisted his head round to meet Jack's eyes in pleading desperation. "All...of...you..." he repeated deliberately. "Now!"

* * *

><p>By the time Ianto finally cast off the mooring, the morning was well advanced, the bright blue sky which had looked so promising had disappeared behind a blanket of low grey cloud that threatened rain. Given the time of year, it was a miracle the weather had held as long as it had, Ianto reasoned, shivering slightly in the cool breeze sweeping briskly across the rear deck. Jack had seen the Yorkshire Dales and the canal at its best, and now it looked as though he was going to get a glimpse of what the county's weather was capable of. It was fortunate that a large chunk of the afternoon would be spent in the protection of the Foulridge tunnel but his plan to go through it and back again in time to moor up at this side for the evening was in tatters – much like Jack's last black t-shirt. Still, although he had told Gwen they would be away six days, there really wasn't anything stopping them taking the extra day it was now going to take to get back to the Snaygill boat yard; it wasn't as if they didn't have enough leave owing. At a push they might be able to snatch another day at the private mooring. An anticipatory smile curved Ianto's lips at the thought and he resolved to ring Gwen as soon as he had a spare moment.<p>

Jack came bounding up the cabin steps, catching his husband mid-smile.

"What are you smiling at? Should I be worried?"

"I was musing on the relative merits of extending our trip for a couple of days. Unless we turn round now we haven't a hope in hell in making it back to Snaygill in time. Which would be a shame because I was really looking forward to witnessing your legman powers through the tunnel."

"Well, I wouldn't want to deprive you," Jack retorted with mock reluctance. "We'll ring Gwen later, once we're too far on to make it back in time if she orders us to turn round."

"You're the boss," Ianto pointed out patiently. "You give the orders."

"You're not still labouring under that delusion, are you?" Jack gave a snort of laughter and shook his head. "If Gwen says jump, we ask how high? She has ways of making us suffer that make death look like the easy option."

"You have a point," Ianto conceded with a grimace. "OK, we ring Gwen when we're guaranteed at least one extra day, then I'll persuade her we really need two."

"You mean you'll lie." Jack raised his eyebrows at Ianto's expression of studied innocence.

"Of course, sir," Ianto replied, the last word drawn out in a husky tone. He held Jack's gaze steadily, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue.

"I though you wanted to get through the tunnel," Jack scolded. "Have you no shame Ianto Harkness-Jones?" He took a step closer to the Welshman.

"None at all," Ianto shot back, the husky words now accompanied by a lascivious wink. "Sir."

"I think I better drive for a while." Jack stepped past Ianto, taking care that his hip brushed against the younger man, and placed his hand over the fingers curled about the metal bar of the tiller. "Your mind is clearly elsewhere."

The Welshman almost goggled at him. The infamous Captain Harkness was dodging some determined flirting from his husband?

"Are you punishing me for something?" he asked suspiciously. The brush against his hip and the caress of Jack's fingers over his own were certainly deliberate actions intended to arouse him.

"The last black t-shirt," Jack explained with a smirk. "I feel that a measure of cruel and unusual torture is required in return."

"As I recall, your exact words were 'For fuck's sake touch me!'" Ianto countered with a frown. "I was only following orders."

"Nevertheless..." Jack grinned evilly. "Stand down, Mr Jones."

Ianto gaped at his husband and then slid his hand out from underneath Jack's, stepping away to lean against the bulkhead. A million clever and witty retorts firmly refused to present themselves so Ianto Harkness-Jones did what any respecting grown man would do, he stuck his tongue out and blew a very loud and deliberate raspberry in his husband's direction before turning on his heel and somehow managing to flounce down into the cabin below.

"A coffee would be good," Jack called after him, smothering a chuckle.

The only answer was a repeat of Ianto's previous statement.

* * *

><p>Jack was miserable. What little remained of the morning had passed without incident, traffic on the canal was light and Jack had steered an easy path between the high reeds on one bank and the towpath on the other. The threatening rain had materialised in the form of a light but steady mizzle which coated the surface of Jack's fleece without penetrating the warm material and leant an air of depressed dampness to the whole proceedings. But it wasn't the grey or the damp that was depressing Jack, it wasn't even the fact that the much anticipated full cooked breakfast had failed to materialise, thanks to some ill-timed café renovations. No, it was the fact that Ianto had taken him at his word and had not put his nose up through the cabin hatchway since he had flounced down there an hour before, not even to bring him a cup of freshly brewed coffee, the smell of which was rising in tantalising wafts from the galley.<p>

Jack muttered a curse under his breath, one which no inhabitant of Earth would recognise, given that your average human wasn't equipped with three rectal orifices, and leant heavily against the tiller in frustration. This wasn't at all what he'd had planned for the rest of the day. Ianto never obeyed orders, well, not those kind of orders. Surely his husband recognised the 'requiring persuasion' routine by now. It was time to swallow his pride and apologise.

A sickening grating noise rent the air, startling Jack from his musing. His eyes focused in horror on the prow of the Myfanwy vanishing into the tall reeds which lined the wooded side of the bank. The grating noise harshened and Jack winced, recognising the unmistakable sound of the barge's hull scrapping across the bottom of the canal.

"Fuck!" Jack's curse was now loud and human as he frantically pulled on the tiller, trying to turn the Myfanwy's back out into the clear expanse of canal. The front of the barge slowly began to turn, ripping reeds from their roots, the long stems snagging on the prow. The grating of the hull became a screech and Jack prayed that he hadn't succeeded in running Ianto's precious Myfanwy aground.

Ianto appeared in the cabin doorway, his face white and etched with worry.

"It's fine, I'm handling it," Jack said immediately, trying to school his features into some kind of reassuring expression. "Just a slight steering error. Nothing to worry about." He admitted his words would have carried more weight if they hadn't been almost completely drowned out by the sound of wood tearing across the stony canal bed. "Honest, Yan. She's fine."

Ianto immediately started up the steep cabin steps, arm outstretched and ready to relieve Jack of the tiller. His hand was a foot away from the metal bar when the grating noise abruptly ceased, to be replaced by the slow steady throb of the engine as the barge regained the clear water. He stopped, taking in Jack's relieved expression with a small smile.

"A bit of a drastic way to gain my attention, cariad," he commented softly, "nearly sinking our boat."

"I did not nearly sink her," Jack shot back defensively, but the tight set of his shoulders told Ianto that until moment ago he had genuinely feared he had done just that. "It was just a slight miscalculation." He paused and grimaced. "I was distracted."

"What by?" Ianto asked, although he had a very good idea. After all, he'd been stood at the bottom of the steps waving that coffee pot around for the past 20 minutes, watching his husband's face become more and more despondent. Another minute and he'd have put the poor man out of his misery.

Jack sighed. "I've fucked up, haven't I? Ruined our anniversary. You thought I didn't want you. You thought I was serious."

Ianto shook his head in exasperation. "Twpsyn. I blew you a raspberry. Since when has blowing a raspberry at someone ever meant something was taken seriously." He leaned into Jack to place a stinging but conciliatory kiss on the immortal's lips. "I honestly thought you'd be calling me up from that cabin after 30 seconds. When you didn't, well, I just wanted to see how long either of us would last before one of us caved. Unfortunately we both appear to be as stubborn as each other. For the record, this anniversary has been absolutely perfect. I..."

Whatever Ianto had been about to say next was lost amid a barrage of squawking and shrill calls from the water behind the barge.

Startled, both men turned to see what was causing the commotion, stumbling backwards as a large and very angry swan took flight from the water a few yards behind the Myfanwy, its long neck, head and spear-like beak aiming very determinedly at their heads.

"Shit!" Ianto exclaimed, reaching behind him with one hand and, knocking Jack's hand off the throttle, threw it forward. The barge's engine whined into full power, the craft moving forward with a lurch. "Jack! Duck!"

The immortal dropped into a crouch, just managing to evade the snapping beak of the angry swan, which flew past before circling round and lining up to make another pass of the barge.

"What the fuck!" Jack swore, covering his head with his arms.

"You must have disturbed a nest when we clipped the bank," Ianto said breathlessly, keeping one eye on the canal and the other on the approaching bird. "You need to get down below."

"No way! I'm not leaving you at the mercy of that thing," Jack protested, vehemently shaking his head.

"It's not pissed at me!" Ianto countered. "Get down below!"

The warning came too late. Fifty kilos of angry adult swan cannoned into Jack's shoulder, sending the immortal pirouetting into the cabin bulkhead with a crash. His legs concertinaed beneath him as he slumped motionless to the deck.

The swan fell stunned into the water beside the barge, where it too floated motionless for several moments before reviving and turning to follow in the boat's wake, resuming its angry litany of grievances.

"Jack!" Ianto looked anxiously at his motionless husband, frustrated that he could not leave the tiller to go to his aid. "Jack?"

"I'm fine." Jack's body remained unmoving, but the voice which emanated from inside the tangle of limbs was strong, if weary and more than a little pained.

"Boy, can that thing pack a punch. I've had less bruising attacks from a weevil. Has it gone? Can I get up yet?"

Ianto glanced back at the bird doggedly following in the wake of the Myfanwy.

"It's still hot on our heels. I should stay where you are, cariad. It's probably safer, full grown swans have been known to kill a man."

"Not really an issue, Yan," Jack replied wryly.

"True, but it would put a bit of a damper on our anniversary trip" Ianto shot back tartly. "Just lay still for five minutes. I'll let you know when it's safe to get up."

Jack harrumphed under his breath. "Fine. But I'm warning you my legs are already going numb."

"Noted."

The problem was, Ianto conceded fifteen minutes later, that the swan was clearly more stubborn than he'd counted on. Despite his maintaining top speed and staying well towards the towpath side of the canal, he found the bird still following them, a steady fifteen feet between itself and the rear of the boat and showing no sign of tiring or giving up the chase.

"It's still there, cariad. I can't shake it," Ianto said apologetically to the hunched form of Jack still feigning unconsciousness on the deck.

There was a distinct growl from Jack. "This is ridiculous! It's a bird. We've managed to give Government spooks the slip, not to mention a Hoix death squad, and we can't escape the wrath of one vengeful specimen of poultry."

"To be fair we are trying to evade it in a craft with a top speed of six knots," Ianto reasoned. "Look, five minutes more and we can moor up. You can make a break for the cabin and we can hole up inside for a couple of hours until it gets bored."

Jack's reply was a deep sigh.

The mooring was, Ianto was thankful to note, deserted. Certainly Jack's language as he stretched his cramped limbs in an awkward and ungainly move to descend into the cabin unnoticed by the swan was not fit for polite company. To Ianto's relief the bird made no move to attack the older man, merely swimming closer to the barge whilst letting out another cacophony of shrill angry calls.

Tying up the boat he followed Jack down into the cabin, coming face to face with a very disgruntled immortal at the bottom of the steps.

"Not...fun," Jack commented pointedly, punctuating each word with a brief but intense kiss on Ianto's lips. "Not...fun...at all! I've no blood in any of my limbs."

Ianto smiled against his husband's lips. "Never mind, cariad. I'm sure we can find a way to get the blood circulating satisfactorily again," he vowed, his voice low, husky and filled with promise. He stepped away. "Give me a minute to make sure we're secure for the night. I don't see us making the tunnel today."

He climbed up the steps, leaving Jack looking a lot more content. Poking his head up through the cabin doors, he looked at the swan drifting just behind the Myfanwy, its gaze fixed at the cabin entrance.

"Nice try, but no cigar. Night-night!" He waved jauntily at the white bird, looking up at the sky which, although filled with dark grey clouds, was still clearly hours away from darkening into twilight.

As he started to duck back down into the cabin, an almost black shape far on the horizon caught his attention. He stood up straight so as to get a better look. His heart sank.

Stooping down he called down into the cabin. "Jack, get dressed. We've got company."

* * *

><p>The shuttle, bearing the familiar Torchwood logo, swept in low over the canal, stirring the water up into tiny waves. The swan took flight with one final angry squawk, flying just above the water back towards its nest.<p>

Typical, Ianto thought sourly. Scowling, he watched as the sleek gunmetal grey ship circled and descended to land in a blast of warm air in the pasture bordering the tow-path. Almost immediately the side hatch lifted upwards and a short flight of stairs swung out from the dark recess of the shuttle, coming to rest in the long green grass. Two young men sporting the familiar black jumpsuits and red berets of U.N.I.T. descended standing to attention at either side of the bottom step.

"That'll be our ride," Jack grumbled, joining Ianto on the deck, dressed in his formal Torchwood attire, complete with greatcoat. Jack, the husband had been replaced by Captain Jack Harkness, leader of Torchwood. His brow creased in an angry frown, his displeasure obvious, as he vaulted the wooden fence and stalked across to the waiting soldiers.

"I understood we had given instructions that we were not to be disturbed," he barked, his face grim.

The young man nearest to him didn't speak or make eye contact but handed him a small portable vidscreen with a salute in which Jack's keen eyes caught the merest hint of a tremble. Jack returned the salute, after all he had no doubt the young man was only acting under orders, and whipped around, striding back towards the canal. Ianto met him half way.

"I guess this means a mauve alert," he said stonily. "Bloody typical!"

Jack nodded, activating the vidscreen. A rotating Torchwood logo and the words 'Connecting...' appeared briefly on the screen before being replaced by Gwen's face in close up, her eyes taut and red, the usual laughter lines around her mouth instead pulled into stern, worried lines. After a moment her brow softened and she gave an apologetic smile.

"Jack, Ianto, I'm sorry. I held off as long as I could. Have you had a good trip?"

"We can save that for later. What is it, Gwen? I can't see you calling us back for anything less than the apocalypse. Is it the 456?" Jack asked tersely. According to the information he'd had from the Doctor about the return of the 456, they weren't due for another year, and, whilst the vaccine Sîan had discovered was in mass production and being administered, there were still large swathes of the world's population as yet unprotected.

Gwen shook her head, "Thankfully not. No, it's our old friends the Sontarans."

"I hardly think a Sontaran ship warrants a Mauve alert," Ianto interjected acidly.

"If it were just the one ship, no," Gwen agreed with a small tight smile. "but we're currently tracking over a thousand ships on course for Earth. That's more of an armada. They've just entered the solar system and we've calculated they'll be in orbit around Earth in just over ten hours."

Ianto's muttered "Bugger" said it all.

"All right," Jack said. "We're on our way. We'll be with you in an hour or so."

"What are we going to do with the Myfanwy?" Ianto asked with a concerned glance backwards at his pride and joy.

"Moffatt can pilot the barge back to Snaygill," Gwen explained. "He has the necessary skills."

"Moffatt?" Ianto queried, his expression still troubled.

The young soldier who had handed Jack the vidscreen stepped forward with an embarrassed salute.

"I used to spend my summers helping my uncle with his charter business, sir. Private Davies will stay and help me crew her. I promise I'll look after her, she's a beauty."

Ianto's face relaxed a fraction. "What about Mr Thwaites? What's he going to say when these two pitch up on my boat?"

"Our boat," corrected Jack.

"Our boat." Ianto shot him an exasperated look.

"It's all taken care of," Gwen assured him. "We've told Mr Thwaite that you've been called back to work unexpectedly – he thinks you work for the government..."

"Which technically we do," Jack interjected, earning himself another sharp look.

"...and your nephew and his partner have come up to pilot the boat back for you and have a bit of a holiday at the same time." Gwen finished ignoring Jack completely.

Ianto looked at Moffatt curiously. The young soldier shook his head. "No sir, just friends, sir."

"Yes, well, the bed is off limits," Ianto retorted.

"Understood, sir." Moffatt coloured but nevertheless presented Ianto with a crisp salute before turning on his heel and returning to his post at the bottom of the shuttle steps.

"You were a bit harsh," Jack commented under his breath just loud enough for Ianto to hear. "He's only trying to help, and he is under orders."

Ianto sighed. "Yeah, well, I'm pissed off. You'd think the Earth could survive without us for six days. I was really looking forward to see your leg work through that tunnel."

"Next time, I promise," Jack vowed. "I'll go get our stuff together, make sure we haven't left anything incriminating behind."

Ianto harrumphed sulkily. "It's our barge, and we're married. Anything incriminating on there is nobody's business but ours." Jack stepped closer and dropped a placating kiss on his lips in full view of Moffatt, Davies and the pilot who was no doubt watching from the nose of the shuttle.

"I'll be back in a minute, Yan, you show Moffatt the ropes." He caught Ianto's eye and the unspoken message in his own steady gaze was clear. Apologise and make it right. Ianto gave a swift smile and nodded.

Jack strode back across the field towards the tow-path, vaulting the fence once more and disappearing down the hatch into the cabin. Ianto followed his progress and then turned to speak to Moffatt.

"I'm sorry, Moffatt, that was uncalled for," he said a touch stiffly. "You and Davies should make yourselves at home for the duration of the trip. There is fresh linen in the storage compartment under the bed. Come on, I should show you where everything is."

His face relaxed into a genuine smile and he gestured for the soldiers to follow him. Moffatt did as he was bid, hurrying after the Welshman. By the time the men reached the fence they were deep in easy conversation.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, as the shuttle lifted from the pasture in a roar of engines that shattered the quiet peace of the Dales, Ianto watched Moffatt and Davies cast off from the bank, their faces alight with the joy of an unexpected few days away from the discipline of U.N.I.T.<p>

"That should be us," he muttered.

"It will be," Jack promised. "Just as soon as we send these Sontarans packing." He leaned back in his seat and crossed one ankle onto one knee. "We'll be in Cardiff in an hour."

Beside him, Ianto relaxed, resting his head against Jack's shoulder, his eyes closing. Who knew when he would next get any proper rest? He was almost asleep when a movement disturbed him and he lifted his head, bleary eyed. In the hand that rested on his knee Jack was cradling a small book containing perforated postcards of pristine white card, in his right hand was a pencil. His brow was taut with concentration as he deftly created an image on the postcard. With interest Ianto watched as his own face took shape before him, his features captured in an expression bordering on rapture, another minute and Ianto could see himself standing at the tiller of the Myfanwy. In his posture there was no hint of tension, his stance easy, his shoulders relaxed. It was almost childlike, he realised, the child he had been all those years ago during that perfect idyllic fortnight. It was an image which caught something he thought lost forever. Something Jack had recognised as being rare and precious and worthy of remembrance.

At that moment Jack's hand stilled as he became aware of Ianto's scrutiny.

"Do you like it?" He turned the drawing towards Ianto so that he could see it more clearly.

Wordlessly Ianto plucked the book of cards from between Jack's fingers and slid it into a pocket of the greatcoat. Covering the now empty hand with his own, his thumb traced out an answer onto the warm calloused palm.

"It's perfect," he said in a low voice intending for no-one but Jack to hear. "Just like you, just like this trip. The best anniversary present I could have wished for."

"One year down, a couple of hundred to go," Jack quipped.

"At least," Ianto interjected.

"At least," Jack echoed. "What the hell can I give you to top this?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Ianto chuckled softly, then leaned into his husband's shoulder with a contented sigh. "But a week with you, me and the Myfanwy will do nicely for the foreseeable future,"

"You really love that boat, don't you?" Jack commented with a smile.

"Yes," Ianto admitted. "Do you mind that there is a rival for your affections?"

Jack pretended to consider the question. After a moment his lips curved in a sly smile as he explained in hushed whispers all the reasons why the Myfanwy was no competition.

* * *

><p>Gwen Williams scanned the datapad containing the report logged by the Torchwood shuttle pilot on his return from Yorkshire and shook her head in incredulous despair. Did those two have no shame? No wonder the poor man had requested a transfer. With a sigh she turned her attention to the work request on her desk – installation of a soundproofed privacy screen between the shuttle cockpit and main passenger cabin – and resignedly stamped it as approved.<p> 


End file.
